“I’d like something awfully much,” said Mary Brown, “and I don’t reckon it ’ud be real bothersome to anybody who knows how to write already. I wish, after you git home, you’d ask your sister to write me a small letter. I never got a letter in all my life. I can’t read, but father’d read it to me.” “She’ll do it,” said Chap, warmly. “I know she will. But where shall she direct it? She can’t send a letter here.” “Oh, there’s a post-office at Cooper’s store,” said the girl, “and when father goes thar, they tells him if there’s a letter thar for him.” Phœnix now called to Chap that they were nearly ready to start. “Good-by!” said Chap, holding out his hand. “You’ve been a real trump, and I’ll make Helen write you a letter. She’ll tell you just how we got home.” Adam and the other boys now came up, and shook hands with Mary Brown. There had been some talk at breakfast of offering to pay her for the provisions she had furnished the night before, but now it had been determined not to do so for fear of offending her. She had evidently offered what she had out of pure good will. As The Rolling Stone was pushed off, Mary Brown stood upon the beach and watched the departing boat. “Don’t you forget the letter,” she called after Chap. “No, indeed!” shouted Chap, heartily. “You needn’t be afraid of that.” “Goin’ to write to her?” asked Adam, with a grin. “No, I’m not,” said Chap, his face flushing a little, “but my sister Helen is. It’ll be a piece of out-and-out charity. That poor girl never got a letter in her life.” “How are you going to send it?” asked Phœnix. “Per alligator?” “No,” said Chap; “per land-shark; the man who keeps the store up the river.” The girl stood on the beach until the boat was nearly out of sight. She then took off her shoes and stockings, and walked slowly homeward. “I wish he’d brought his sister with him,” she said to herself, as she plodded along toward the lonely house. “If I could ’a’ had jist one look at another girl ’twould ’a’ been something.” “I hope we’ll get to that store of Cooper’s early in the afternoon,” said Adam, “for if we don’t my little bears’ll be out of milk ag’in.” “That will be too bad,” said Phil, “for they’ve got on splendidly so far. No matter what happened to the boat, they’ve always had their regular meals.” “Yes,” said Adam, “them rascals ’spected to make money out of these bears, and they fed ’em up first-rate, but that’s the only good thing they did do. They’ve made us lose pretty nigh two whole days, besides comin’ within an inch of havin’ a reg’lar battle among ourselves. That was about the last thing I thought could happen.” “I suppose that part of it was my fault,” said Chap. “I oughtn’t to have tried to get back the boat without letting you know about it.” “It was just as much my fault,” said Phil. “If I hadn’t gone off, and taken Phœnix, those fellows wouldn’t have tried to run off with the boat.”