Neither blushed, although Fenie had hoped they would. As for Trixy, who had not had much opportunity to talk during the walk through the fort, she looked intently at her invalid charge, her dear Aunt Fee. The instant there was a lull in the conversation, Trixy could not help saying: "Mamma, seems to me that somethin's made Aunt Fee look awful weller all at once; don't you think so?" Then the blushes, for which Fenie had looked in her sister's cheeks, hurried into her own, and refused to depart. CHAPTER V. A SURPRISE. "HERE'S a letter for you, Harry," said Kate Trewman one morning as her brother came to the breakfast table, "and from the penmanship of the address I should imagine it to be from a washerwoman or a newsboy." Harry looked solemnly at the address--he had looked solemnly at everything for several days, but when he saw the signature he started, a motion which did not escape the observant eye of his sister, who exclaimed: "Do tell me what has happened! You look like an actor in a play with a great letter-scene in it." Harry did not reply, for he was trying to read the letter, the writer of which could read, he knew, but seemed not to have learned to write, or even to spell, for the letter ran as follows: "Dere Mister Trumen: I wunt to git yure pikcher an if yu giv it tu me yu needunt giv me that dolle tho I want the dolle lots an them yure sistur wus goin to gimme. Plese send me the pikcher rite away cause I'm goin a travelen. Youres trule TRIXY HIGHWOOD." "Do tell me what it is!" exclaimed Kate. "'Tis a dead secret--or a mystery," Harry replied, with an absent-minded manner and a far-away look. Then he re-read the letter and laughed, at which Kate said: "Thank goodness! Evidently it isn't a tragedy!" "No, although there may be some elements of a drama in it." "Do let me see the letter." "Not now, dear girl. It is on a matter which I think should be regarded as strictly confidential." Nevertheless Kate saw the letter before the day was done, and she did a lot of thinking about it. Then she drew her brother into the parlor and said abruptly: "I've thought it all out. Fenie Wardlow hasn't a picture of you, has she?" "Kate!" exclaimed Harry severely. "Do you imagine me to be conceited enough to present my portrait to young women in general?" "Tut, tut! You know very well that Fenie Wardlow isn't classed in your mind among young women in general. She's the one and particular woman of all the world, to you. Answer my question; has she your picture?" "No. Now are you satisfied?" "Not entirely. Still, I'm sure she wants it. That child never wrote you of her own accord, to ask for your picture." "Kate! Will you kindly remember that Miss Wardlow is a lady? I'm surprised that you should make such an insinuation."