The process of repairing damages was a slow and tedious one. At intervals Dorothy wept copiously into the bath tub, and uttered broken promises to the effect that next time she would stand in a corner and not move till the hour of starting arrived, "And I sha’n’t like Sally never any more," sobbed Dorothy, who had a habit, not unknown among older girls, of holding other people responsible for her escapades, "’cause she put that up high where it could fall all over me." The last traces of glutinous matter were at last removed from Peggy’s charge. Arrayed in a clean gingham, with a bath towel over her shoulders, Dorothy was set out on the porch, where the sun could dry her golden hair. Peggy gave her attention to repairing damages elsewhere, and when she returned after twenty minutes’ absence, Dorothy’s hair was curling all over her head, in a flossy yellow snarl, while in her hand she held a typewritten sheet of paper. "What’s that, Dorothy?" Peggy asked, feeling the curly head for signs of dampness. Dorothy reflected. "It’s a letter, I fink," she replied, obviously giving the explanation which seemed most plausible, but speaking doubtfully. "Let me see!" Peggy took the sheet in her hand, and began its perusal, her eyes opening wide and wider as she read. "’honor is at stake,’ replied the earl, his hand seeking his sword. The Lady Vivian uttered a cry of anguish, and sank fainting into the arms of her attendant." "Why, how funny," Peggy broke off in the midst of the thrilling narrative to ask a practical question. "Where did this come from?" "I guess a angel brought it," replied Dorothy, after due reflection. "O, you goosie!" Peggy’s laughter rang out blithely, and Mrs. Raymond upstairs, overheard and drew a relieved sigh. For to have Peggy low-spirited produced much the same effect as when the sun goes under a cloud. "Where did you find the paper, dearie?" coaxed Peggy. "The wind blew it from somewhere, didn’t it?" Dorothy shook her head with vehemence, causing extreme agitation among her frizzled locks. "No, it didn’t blow from anywhere. It just camed." It was evident that little information could be extracted from this source and Peggy fell back upon her own wits. "It’s typewritten. There isn’t anybody around here who has a typewriter, except Harry Rind, and he wouldn’t be writing about earls and swords and things. I wonder--" Peggy broke off, and stared at the next house. The windows upstairs were open. It would be an easy matter for a sheet of paper, more enterprising than its associates, to take a little excursion into the outer world. At the same time, Peggy disliked the idea of facing Elaine again, to inquire if the typewritten sheet was her property. If it happened to belong to someone else, the chances were that Elaine would be as uncompromisingly disagreeable as she had been the day before. And to be snubbed twice in two days was too much, even for Peggy.