It is difficult to begin; so much to tell. On the eve of Christmas Eve, early morning of the 24th we discovered when we took a moment to look at a clock, we were all wakened by a great ringing of bells in the direction of Highboro. Leon and Floyd rode immediately to see what the matter was, and the matter, dear Aunt, was great. Our warehouse was afire and subsequently burned to the ground with God only knows how many bales of cotton, our own and those we had undertaken to hold for others. Lost, all lost.

The gin would have gone too except for a favorable wind and the efforts of every man in Highboro. All gave their strength to contain and subdue the blaze.

One man has died: Rex, the one we had set as watchman over the warehouse; he died of burns the following day, in spite of the little-all that could be done. There was not enough soda in all Highboro to cool his poor flesh. Fortunately for him, and may God forgive him for I cannot, he suffered little, they say, for he was already nigh dead of drunkenness. We did not know his weakness, if he had it; it may indeed have been induced that night for a purpose, the very one of having him out of the way for the burning of the warehouse! Oh, it might have been a friend who stopped with him and made him drunk in mistaken celebration of the holy season and is now afraid to step forward and speak. But it may likelier have been a necessary part, and hence murder, of a plot against us.

Rumors have circulated morbidly. My own first thought, and Leon’s, was that Roscoe Elk was behind it, seeking to wreak some revenge upon us. But why? I have already written you what happened between him and us. God knows he has had the best of it and can have no reason to hate us. But when such calamity occurs, our minds search blindly, and hate need have no reason. It cannot have been he, we tell ourselves and each other a thousand times over, for he had nothing to gain.

This is not even the worst. Snatched from sleep in the middle of the night, Uncle Felix rushed to the scene, was one of the first there, directing the attempt to halt the fire. In the midst of pleading for haste he fell to the ground, having had, as we learned subsequently, a stroke of paralysis. He is alive, but he cannot speak, although his lips and eyes move. (Is this a good sign? No one appears to know.) His left side shows no life.