Jimmy eyed the small garment uncertainly. “It was in this one,” he decided; “I ’member I put the letter in my pocket an’ it stuck out, ’cause it was too long.” “Did you come straight home from the post-office?” demanded Barbara. “Did you, Jimmy?” Jimmy reflected. “I walked along,” he said, “an’ ’nen I looked in through the fence to see the deer an’ the shiny blue round things—you know, Barb’ra, when the sun shines you c’n see——” “I know,” said the girl, with a touch of impatience. “An’ ’nen I saw the horse wiv a short tail come out, an’ I p’tended I was drivin’ an’ goin’ awful fast! But I couldn’t trot real fas’ because the m’lasses spilled. I had to stop an’ lick it off lots of times.” “Why, Jimmy!” said the girl rebukingly. “Wiv my fingers,” explained Jimmy mildly. “You know you have to do something when it comes out all bubbles ’round the edge; an’—an’ ’nen I——” “You must have dropped the letter somewhere along the road,” interrupted his sister. “Uh-huh! I guess I did,” assented the culprit. “But I didn’t mean to, Barb’ra. Truly I didn’t.” His lip quivered as he looked up at her stormy face. The girl controlled herself with an effort. “Of course you didn’t mean to, darling,” she said, kissing the rosy mouth, which had begun to droop dolefully at the corners. “Perhaps it was just an advertisement, anyway, and not worth bothering over. I’ll walk along with you and see if we can find it.” But the letter, snugly hidden under a clump of unfolding fern, gave no token of its presence as the two walked slowly past it, their eyes searching the road and the tangled growths on either side. Barbara walked swiftly to the post-office, after she had left Jimmy at the schoolhouse. It had occurred to her that someone might have returned the missing letter to the office. Al Hewett, when questioned, shook his head. “Nope,” he said, “the’ ain’t nobody brought it here. ’Course I’d ’a’ saved it fer you if they had. I remember the letter all right, I happened to notice the postmark. It was fo’m Tombstone, Arizony. Know anybody out there?” The girl shook her head. “Was there any printing—or—writing on the envelope?” she asked. “Not that I recall,” said Mr. Hewlett, mindful of his official state. “Of course you understan’ with the amount of mail we handle in this office that we couldn’t be expected to notice any one letter in pertickler. I’m real sorry, Barb’ra,” he added, with genuine good feeling. “Jimmy’s pretty small t’ deliver mail. He’s a nice little shaver, though. Anythin’ in the line o’ groceries to-day?” “Not to-day,” said Barbara, her cheeks flushing. Then she looked up with sudden determination. “Is your father here?” she asked, in a low voice. “If he is—I’d like to see him.” “Pa’s in the back room makin’ up accounts,” the younger Hewett informed her. “I’ll call him, if you say so.—Pa!” “No; don’t, please,” objected Barbara hastily. “I’ll go and speak to him there.”