Dear little mother and girls,--I have told stories and described describes, and all to crowd out and leave to the last corner _such_ a thing that Dakie Thayne wants to do! We got to talking about Westover and last summer, and the pleasant old place, and all; and I couldn't help telling him something about the worry. I know I had no business to; and I am afraid I have made a snarl. He says he would like to buy the place! And he wanted to know if Uncle Stephen wouldn't rent it of him if he did! Just think of it,--that boy! I believe he really means to write to Chicago, to his guardian. Of course it never came into my head when I told him; it wouldn't at any rate, and I never think of _his_ having such a quantity of money. He seems just like--as far as that goes--any other boy. What shall I do? Do you believe he will? P.S. Saturday morning. I feel better about that Poll Parroting of mine, to-day. I have had another talk with Dakie. I don't believe he will write; now, at any rate. O girls! this is just the most perfect morning! Tell Stephen I've got a _splendid_ little idea, on purpose for him and me. Something I can hardly keep to myself till I get home. Dakie Thayne put it into my head. He is just the brightest boy, about everything! I begin to feel in a hurry almost, to come back. I don't think Miss Pennington will go to Lake George, after all. She says she hates to leave the Point, so many of her old friends are here. But Pen and I think she is afraid of the steamers. * * * * * Ruth got home a week after this; a little fatter, a little browner, and a little merrier and more talkative than she had ever been before. Stephen was in a great hurry about the splendid little mysterious idea, of course. Boys never can wait, half so well as girls, for anything. We were all out on the balcony that night before dusk, as usual. Ruth got up suddenly, and went into the house for something. Stephen went straight in after her. What happened upon that, the rest of us did not know till afterward. But it is a nice little part of the story,--just because there is so precious little of it. Ruth went round, through the brown room and the hall, to the front door. Stephen found her stooping down, with her face close to the piazza cracks. "Hollo! what's the matter? Lost something?" Ruth lifted up her head. "Hush!" "Why, how your face shines! What _is_ up?" "It's the sunset. I mean--that shines. Don't say anything. Our splendid--little--idea, you know. It's under here." "Be dar--never-minded, if mine is!" "You don't know. Columbus didn't know where his idea was--exactly. Do you remember when Sphinx hid her kittens under here last summer? Brought 'em round, over the wood-pile in the shed, and they never knew their way out till she showed 'em?" "It _isn't_ about kittens!" "Hasn't Old Ma'amselle got some now?" "Yes; four."