"Yes; but we can't go on like this much longer, Jessie," her sister replied. "I was talking about it to mamma, only a few days ago. We must try to get a young girl to help about the house, for it is settled that you are to go back into school after Christmas." "' Sufficient unto the day,'" said Jessie, laughing. "You know I'd much rather stay at home and help you than go back to school. Why must I go, any more than you?" "I was supposed to be finished last year, ready to come out," answered Katharine; "and so I ought to be finished enough to stay in. But when we get settled down for the winter, I mean to go on and do a little studying by myself, history or something. I don't know yet just what it will be. You've had a hard summer and fall, Jessie," she added, surveying her sister with a motherly air; "but you've gone through it splendidly, and I'm proud of you." "It's no harder for me than for you," responded Jessie sturdily; "and it hasn't made half the difference in my plans. But there are times, Kit, when I do feel as if I must see papa again." "I don't dare let myself think about him much," said Katharine slowly. "It is one of the things we can't undo, and must take as they come." She was silent for a few moments, then added, with an evident effort to turn the conversation, "Here comes the postman. I don't suppose he has anything for us, though." "Maybe he has," answered Jessie hopefully. "It is ever and ever so long since we heard from any of the girls." The sisters sat watching the man as he came slowly down the street, stopping here and there to leave a part of his precious burden. "Don't you ever wish you could know just what is in all those letters?" asked Jessie, as she rested her chin in her hands. "No, I don't know as I do," replied Katharine. "If it were all funny or interesting, it would be well enough; but think of all the letters that have sad or ugly things to tell. I do wish he would bring us one, though." "Perhaps he will. Yes, he's going to!" And Jessie sprang down the steps to meet the man, who paused long enough to hand her a thick envelope, and then went on out of sight, quite disregarded by the girls who were all-absorbed in their mail. "It's yours," said Jessie, as she deliberately mounted the steps once more; "but I can't make out whose writing it is. Part of it looks like Alan's, and part like Polly's. It's from some of them, anyway. Do see if you can make it out." And she tossed the envelope into her sister's lap. No true woman ever opens a letter to find out from whom it comes. Katharine carefully and minutely studied the one in her hand, without attempting to resort to the most natural method of obtaining an answer to the question. At length she raised her head with a laugh. "It's from them all," she said. "Polly wrote my name, Molly the city, and Alan the state. This is one of that boy's pranks." "Do hurry to open it," said Jessie impatiently.