"I mean it’s word for word like the other one. Do you suppose she could have forgotten that she had written him and thanked him over again?" "If that’s the case she must be a very stupid person," Peggy pronounced judicially. Then curiosity prompted her to ask, "Did Graham leave that lying around too?" Ruth flushed hotly. "No-o! I took the mail from the postman, and I recognized the monogram. The writing didn’t look natural. She must have used a different pen." Peggy refused to be diverted by the peculiarities of Maud’s penmanship. "Ruth Wylie!" she demanded indignantly. "Do you mean to tell me that you opened your brother’s letter?" Ruth squirmed. "Peggy, I just had to know what she said." "If you wanted to know what she said you should have gone to Graham and asked him. I don’t think anything very good ever comes from doing things in an underhanded way." "Don’t be cross, Peggy," pleaded Ruth. "I never was so puzzled and troubled in all my life. And I want you to advise me." "I am advising you. Go to Graham about it. Or else tell your father. That’s the only advice I can give you, and the best you’re likely to get from anybody." "I can’t do that," Ruth returned despairingly. Resentfully she studied the address on the letter she held. "Christmas is just spoiled for me, Peggy. I can’t think of anything but Maud, and the way Graham is wasting his money, and how deceitful he is, and how poor father would feel if he knew." She swallowed down a sob, and almost remorsefully, Peggy threw her arms about her and hugged her. "You poor dear thing. I only wish I could help you. But, honestly, Ruth, there is only one way out, and that’s to be frank and above board. Even if Graham has done wrong, silly things, it’s no sign that he can’t be brought to reason. I’d talk to him in a minute, if he were my brother." Unwelcome advice seldom seems good advice to the recipient. Ruth went away dejected, with the purloined letter in her pocket, but Peggy’s remonstrances had at least one good effect. Ruth resolved that in the future she would read no more of her brother’s letters without his permission. Peggy, standing in the hall, her forehead knotted over her friend’s problem, felt a little twinge of shame as she recalled her varying moods of dejection and irritation during the past week. The finishing of a specified number of gifts at a specified time seemed a trifling cause for disquiet, compared with the burden poor Ruth was carrying. "Aunt Peggy!" A timid voice spoke from the doorway. "See what I’ve found." Peggy whirled about. Dorothy stood on the threshold, the doll’s petticoat slipped over her arm. She was studying it speculatively. "It looks some like a sleeve, Aunt Peggy. A sleeve to a little girl’s dress."