"Blessed child," thought Nancy, "her fairy godmother has given her one gift that even Liz can't take away from her--imagination!" CHAPTER XII LIZ Old Jonathan, returning from his daily trip to the postoffice, brought home the news that "there'd be doin's on Fourth of July 'count of the soldier boys--that Webb'd said it'd got to be a Fourth that not a child in Freedom'd forget!" And B'lindy had retorted that "it wa'nt likely, I guess, if Webb got up the doin's anyone _would_--they'd be doin's no one _could_ forget!" But Nancy's interest in the coming event gave way with a quickly smothered exclamation of delight when Jonathan drew from an inside pocket a square, bluish envelope with a foreign postmark, redirected in Mrs. Finnegan's most careful handwriting. "And here's another," he added, bringing forth a letter from Claire. "You're a _dear_," cried Nancy, hugging her treasures. "If you'll take this pan of peas, Jonathan, I'll run off and read them!" B'lindy watched Nancy disappear toward the orchard with mingled amazement and disapproval. "There never was a letter _I_ got I'd set by my work for! _That's_ a young one for you!" Out in her Bird's-nest Nancy held up the two envelopes. "I'll save you 'til last, Daddy," she whispered, kissing the handwriting she loved. Claire's letter was short and yet so like her that Nancy could have believed her friend was there with her--talking to her. "I'm perfectly miserable, and I can't let mother guess--she tries to make everything so jolly for me. But I'm just plain homesick for college and you girls. The summer isn't a bit what I'd planned. Barry went away before I got home. Mother thought he'd come back but he didn't, and the maddening thing is she won't tell me where he is. She said Barry was 'getting settled.' Isn't that absurd? I suppose he's gone off to the Canadian Rockies or maybe to Japan. But I don't see why mother has to make a secret of it! The war's changed all the men I know--none of them seem as nice. They're so restless and act so old. But then, I'm restless, too, and feel as old as the hills. For heaven's sake, Nancy, hurry up and do your duty by Anne's relatives and come here to me--I need you!" "Funny Claire," laughed Nancy, talking aloud in the way she had learned at Happy House. "She's always trying to make herself think she's miserable. But Barry _is_ a pill! Now, Daddy mine!" Because she must make her moment of joy last as long as possible, she spread out each page; she peeped into the envelope to be certain that she had them all; she touched ever so lightly the penned lines; she even sniffed joyously at the paper in a vain hope of detecting the familiar odor of Havana tobacco. The letter had been three weeks on its way. And it was in answer to one Nancy had written to him from college, soon after Anne's plans to go to. Russia had been completed.