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A Note among the “Skellingtons” benzonia, august 8, 1894 ralph stood on the back porch, muttering in annoyance. His shoes, thick-soled, with substantial leather high-top uppers, were heavy enough in normal circumstances. This afternoon they had doubled in weight. The rain had abated early yesterday, and what with the brisk wind, the ground had already dried enough to allow the gently sloping southeast ‹eld to be worked. Had, that is, until a woodchuck popped up near the thicket at the ‹eld’s edge, and the horses had taken it into their fool heads to bolt downhill like the very devil was after them. Ralph had shouted and hauled on the reins; the shout, of course, had been stupid, it had only upset them more. By the time they’d stopped, horses, Ralph, and harrow , all four were bogged down in the clay soil near the banks of the creek. It had taken some time to sort out traces, unhitch the horses and lead them back up to drier ground, and get back to work. He hadn’t wasted the time it took to scrape all the clay off his soggy shoes. As he and the horses trudged back and forth along the rows, only some of the clay fell off; the rest, collecting a patina of gleaming black soil, had nicely thickened to a ceramic coating. He surveyed the lumpish appendages that this morning had been perfectly ordinary work shoes. He knelt and, grimacing at the unpleasant feel on his ‹ngers and under his nails, began to unlace them. The back door ›ew open. Hands covered in clay, struggling to remove the second boot, he stood like a dirty-legged stork and stared at Lottie. “Oh, Ralph,” she gasped. Her face was pale, but two red dots on her cheekbones gave her a feverish look. She held a paper out to Ralph, who helplessly showed her his hands. “Come in here, Ralph, and wash your hands. Then look at what I found.” He obeyed. He read the note over a second time, and looked up at Lottie. “And this was in the Home Physician? What was it doing there?” he asked stupidly. “I don’t know! We just found it! I was showing Josie the pictures . . .” “How is she?” 176 “She’s upstairs asleep. Ralph, do pay attention! I was showing her the pictures, and she wanted to know if everyone had a ‘skellington,’ and as I turned the pages to ‹nd the plate, there was this paper. I almost didn’t unfold it, thinking it was just a marker, but then I did, and saw it was Mother’s writing, and here it was!” Ralph read the note again. “Mother’s writing? You think so? This doesn’t sound like her, does it?” “I—I’m not sure. She was already so sick by then.” “But look here.” He pointed at a phrase.“And Mother wouldn’t have said that, she knows better. And she certainly wouldn’t have misspelled ‘feels’ that way.” “Then who did write it?”They looked at each other, then back at the paper. “Anyway, Ralph, don’t you think that Mr. Covell would want to know about this?” “I suppose so,” he agreed, reluctantly. “But it seems awfully queer, doesn’t it, ‹nding this now? Why would she have put it in the book and not somewhere we’d ‹nd it sooner?” Lottie, busying herself at the sink, didn’t answer. mr. covell turned the paper over and doubtfully examined the back side of the page. “What’s he looking for?” wondered Ralph, but held his silence. “Do you think this looks like your mother’s writing?” he ‹nally asked them. Roy shrugged. “She was pretty sick by that time. Maybe—” ”I don’t think it does. Not a bit,” Ralph spoke up. Mr. Covell glowered at him from behind his shaggy eyebrows. “Then how do you account for it?” “I don’t know what to make of it, sir.” “You say your sister produced this?” “Yes, sir, she found it. She was showing the medical book to our younger sister, Josie. Josie’s had a cold and an upset stomach lately, and Lottie says she was just fractious, you know how babies are when they don’t feel good, and so Lottie got out the book and this note was just— in there.” “I’d like to speak directly to young Charlotte about this, if I may.” “Yes, sir. She’ll...

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