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The wisest lawyer, the shrewdest diplomatist in the land never put forth a subtler weapon than this simple girl's simple letter. It was on the morning of the 3d of April that Draxy dropped her letter in the office. Three days later it was taken out of the mail-bag in the post-office of Clairvend. The post-office was in the one store of the village.
George Thayer, with the quick instinct of a stage-driver, was the first to see that she was a stranger. "Where d'ye wish to go, ma'am?" said he, stepping towards her. "Thank you," said Draxy, "I expected some one to meet me," and she looked uneasy; but reassured by the pleasant face, she went on: "the minister from Clairvend village was to meet me here."
Everybody was touched by Jane's worn face and gentle ways; her silence did not repel them; everybody liked Draxy too, and admired her, but many were a little afraid of her. The village men had said that she was "the smartest woman that had ever set foot in Clairvend village," and human nature is human nature.
If there is more than one minister, will you please give my letter to the kindest one. Yours truly, The letter inclosed was addressed "To the Minister of Clairvend." This letter also was short. "DEAR SIR: I have asked the Postmaster to give this letter to the kindest minister in the town. "I am Reuben Miller's daughter. My father is very poor. He has not known how to do as other men do to be rich.
Ten or a dozen men were lounging about curiosity about the odd name was soon swallowed up in curiosity as to the contents of the letter. The men of Clairvend had not been so stirred and roused by anything since the fall election. Luckily for Draxy's poor little letter, there was but one minister in the village, and the only strife which rose was as to who should carry him the letter.
A large part of the county was still marked "ungranted," and the township in which this land lay was bounded on the north by this uninhabited district. The name of the town was Clairvend. "What could it have been named for?" said Draxy. "How pleasantly it sounds." "Most likely some Frenchman," said Captain Melville. "They always give names that 're kind o' musical."
Strangers sometimes came to Clairvend to hear her preach, for of course the fame of the beautiful white-robed woman-preacher could not be confined to her own village. This always troubled Draxy very much.
White tried to comfort herself by engaging Draxy for one month's steady sewing, and presenting her with a set of George Eliot's novels. And Draxy tried steadily and bravely to forget her journey, and the name of Clairvend. About this time she wrote a hymn, and showed it to her father.
What else the letter told no one ever knew; but the Elder's face always had a horror-stricken look when the Frenchman's name was mentioned, and when people sometimes wondered if he would ever be seen again in Clairvend, the emphasis of the Elder's "Never! ye may rely on that! Never!" had something solemn in it. In less than forty-eight hours the whole village knew the story.
She had never kept any secret from him before, except the secret of her verses. "But he must not be disappointed again," said Draxy; "and there is no real hope." She dropped her letter into the post-office and went to her work. The letter was addressed "To the Postmaster of Clairvend, "New Hampshire." It was a very short letter. "DEAR SIR: I wish to ask some help from a minister in your town.
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