"Which theory goes to show," said Silvia, "how little you know Uncle Issachar and the Polydore seniors. He would not think of speaking to strangers, and if he did, he wouldn't say any of those usual conversational things you mentioned. The Polydores wouldn't be interested, in the least, in knowing he had a niece unless she happened to know something about antiques, and if he should describe her children, she wouldn't recognize them." After luncheon I went out on the porch. While I sat there, the mail carrier came along and handed me a letter--a returned letter. It was directed in Ptolemy's round hand to Mr. Issachar Innes. He had evidently used the envelope to Silvia's letter to her uncle as his model, for the address was written in the same way. "Personal" was added in the left-hand corner, and his name and our house number was in the upper left-hand corner. I went into the library where my wife, Beth, Rob, and Ptolemy were sitting. "Ptolemy," I said, handing him the letter, "here is your communication to Uncle Issachar, returned." He lost some of his usual _sang froid_ and appeared quite disconcerted. "Why, Ptolemy," exclaimed Silvia in consternation, "what in the world did you write to Uncle Issachar about?" Ptolemy had recovered and was quite himself again. "About us," he said innocently. "As the oldest of our family, I thought I ought to do a little explaining." "And I think," I said, looking at him keenly, "that we have the right to know what your explanation was." Ptolemy handed me over the letter. "Read it aloud," he said, with the air of one who is proud of his productions. Rob's eyes shone in anticipation. I broke the seal. A note from the secretary fell out. It was an apology for not returning the letter sooner, but it had been inadvertently mislaid. I then read aloud the letter Ptolemy had written: "Dear Uncle Issachar "I am sorry Diogenes and I were away when you were here. You thought the others were fine, but you should have seen--Diogenes. I hope you will send mudder back her check, because there is lots of things she needs, and it takes a lot of money to take care of all us. You see our own father and mother don't want to be bothered with us and they went away and left us, and so we are living with mudder the same as if we were really her adopted children, and if her own would have been worth five thousand per to you, I think her adopted children ought to be worth half as much anyway, so it would only be fair to send her a check for $12,500 anyway, and if you are a good sport like the kids said you were, you'll send back her check. "Yours truly, "P. Issachar Polydore Wade." Rob's laughter was so free and spontaneous that I had to join in against my will. Ptolemy, who had seemed a little apprehensive of the verdict, looked accordingly relieved.