Half wondering which course would be the better, she began a letter, but was interrupted again and again, so at night she was but little further advanced than in the morning. Besides, a series of showers had descended upon Old Point, and Trixy was obliged to remain indoors, and a little girl away from home on a showery day is as restless as a guilty conscience, so Trif finally called herself a heartless mother, and tried to devote herself entirely to her child. Trixy asked only that mamma would write a good long letter for her to papa, and Trif began it, and got well under way, when a waiter came to the room with a message from Fenie, begging Trif to come down at once to see some old friends who had unexpectedly arrived, so poor little Trixy was hurried to bed, where she thought dismally of life's disappointments until she fell asleep. A little matter like a night's sleep could not make Trixy forget anything upon which she had set her heart. Early the next morning the child begged her mamma to finish that letter to papa, and she reverted to the subject several times during the day. Finally she searched her mother's portfolio for the unfinished letter, and endeavored to complete it herself, in imitation of print, which was the only sort of writing she knew well. She had not learned to use a pen, and the only pencil she could find had a very bad point, so she put both letter and pencil into her pocket, and resolved to bide her time until she could find her mother disengaged. Once upon the beach, and at her favorite occupation of well-digging, she forgot the letter for two or three hours, but the subject was brought back to her mind by overhearing one of the male guests tell another that he had just received a letter from his little daughter, and that a man never knew how dear his children were until he was separated from them for a few days. Suddenly the inspector of sand-wells, the cheery old Admiral, hove in view, and Trixy hurried to him and asked: "You can sharpen lead-pencils, can't you?" "I could when I was at the Naval Academy," was the modest reply. In a moment Trixy's hand and eyes and head and tongue were working in unison, after the manner of beginners at letter-writing, while the Admiral, standing a little apart, pretended to write something in a memorandum book, but really made a sketch, to be presented to Trif, of the little correspondent as she knelt upon the piazza floor and used a chair as a desk. "Writin's dreadful hard work," said Trixy, after several moments of effort. "I do wish that mamma--oh, say, Admiral, you can write, can't you? Of course you can--I see you doin' it now. Won't you please finish this letter for me if I tell you what to say? That's the way mamma writes 'em for me--she begun this one. If you do it you needn't pay me five cents the next time my well's the best of the lot, and I guess it's goin' to be the best to-day. Is it a bargain?"