“Grandma never found out about the door,” said Molly, “and now it’s bolted, so nobody can use it any more. We wrote Papa about it, but we haven’t had any answer yet; it takes such a long time for a letter to come from China. Miss Leslie thought it was all right, though. I wish you could know Miss Leslie, she’s so sweet and dear. We tell her about everything, and she answers all our letters. We hope she’s going to marry Uncle Stephen, but we’re not sure. Dulcie’s written to ask him, but he hasn’t answered yet.” Miss Polly smiled. “You all seem very fond of writing letters,” she said. “I hope you will write to me often, for I shall be interested in everything you do.” “I think this has been one of the happiest days we ever had,” remarked Dulcie, that evening, when they were all in the nursery, preparing for bed. “It’s been lovely,” agreed Daisy, “but there’s going to be a happier one still, and that will be the day Papa comes home. I wish we could tell Lizzie about everything, she’d be so interested, and perhaps we shall see her when we go to the country, for Mary says her husband keeps the grocery store at Glenwood, and that’s only five miles from us.” “And just think, Grandma and Aunt Kate never even heard of Miss Polly,” reflected Molly. “They might be just as happy as we are to-night, if they only took a little interest in other things besides missionaries.” CHAPTER XIV MRS. WINSLOW GETS A TELEGRAM It was a glorious morning towards the end of June, and the four little Winslows were comfortably established under the big apple-tree. The Winslow Homestead was on the banks of the Hudson, and from where they sat, the children could watch the boats on the river, and even hear the sound of the paddles, as the big excursion steamers plied their busy way between New York and Albany. They could look across to the opposite shore, where the Palisades rose in forms like castles, from the very brink of the river. It was a beautiful view, and the children loved it, as their father had loved it before them. The place had been in the Winslow family for three generations, and old Dr. Winslow himself had climbed that very apple-tree when a boy, and brought down many a shower of half-ripe apples for his younger brothers and sisters. Dulcie and Daisy had never wearied of their father’s stories of his boyhood at the old homestead on the Hudson, and the two weeks since the family had left the city had been very pleasant ones. “I don’t know why it is, but Grandma always seems rather nicer in summer than she does in winter,” Molly had remarked only that morning. “She doesn’t scold half so much, and she lets us do pretty nearly everything we want to.” “I think it’s because there’s so much more room,” Dulcie decided. “We are not so much in her way. I think the less Grandma sees of us, the better she likes us.”