“I’ve thought of a plan,” said the Story Girl. “Let’s all give her something, as Felicity says. And let us all go up to her place this evening, and if we see her outside we’ll just go quietly and set the things down before her with the letter, and say nothing but come respectfully away.” “If she’ll let us,” said Dan significantly. “Can Peg read a letter?” I asked. “Oh, yes. Aunt Olivia says she is a good scholar. She went to school and was a smart girl until she became crazy. We’ll write it very plain.” “What if we don’t see her?” asked Felicity. “We’ll put the things on her doorstep then and leave them.” “She may be miles away over the country by this time,” sighed Cecily, “and never find them until it’s too late for Pat. But it’s the only thing to do. What can we give her?” “We mustn’t offer her any money,” said the Story Girl. “She’s very indignant when any one does that. She says she isn’t a beggar. But she’ll take anything else. I shall give her my string of blue beads. She’s fond of finery.” “I’ll give her that sponge cake I made this morning,” said Felicity. “I guess she doesn’t get sponge cake very often.” “I’ve nothing but the rheumatism ring I got as a premium for selling needles last winter,” said Peter. “I’ll give her that. Even if she hasn’t got rheumatism it’s a real handsome ring. It looks like solid gold.” “I’ll give her a roll of peppermint candy,” said Felix. “I’ll give one of those little jars of cherry preserve I made,” said Cecily. “I won’t go near her,” quavered Sara Ray, “but I want to do something for Pat, and I’ll send that piece of apple leaf lace I knit last week.” I decided to give the redoubtable Peg some apples from my birthday tree, and Dan declared he would give her a plug of tobacco. “Oh, won’t she be insulted?” exclaimed Felix, rather horrified. “Naw,” grinned Dan. “Peg chews tobacco like a man. She’d rather have it than your rubbishy peppermints, I can tell you. I’ll run down to old Mrs. Sampson’s and get a plug.” “Now, we must write the letter and take it and the presents to her right away, before it gets dark,” said the Story Girl. We adjourned to the granary to indite the important document, which the Story Girl was to compose. “How shall I begin it?” she asked in perplexity. “It would never do to say, ‘Dear Peg,’ and ‘Dear Miss Bowen’ sounds too ridiculous.” “Besides, nobody knows whether she is Miss Bowen or not,” said Felicity. “She went to Boston when she grew up, and some say she was married there and her husband deserted her, and that’s why she went crazy. If she’s married, she won’t like being called Miss.” “Well, how am I to address her?” asked the Story Girl in despair. Peter again came to the rescue with a practical suggestion. “Begin it, ‘Respected Madam,’” he said. “Ma has a letter a school trustee once writ to my Aunt Jane and that’s how it begins.”