Every morning came a letter from David, and Polly was invariably at the door to take it from the carrier. Sometimes it was little more than a note; but oftener it spread itself over page after page in familiar, affectionate talk. Two days after Russell Ely had brought her up the hill, an envelope with David’s well-known superscription was put into Polly’s hand. At first it seemed no more than the envelope itself, so thin it was. Then Polly saw that a single sheet was inside. “Guess he was in a hurry,” she told herself, as she hastened up to her room. She sat down by the broad window and noted the slight unevenness of the address. David’s chirography was a continual wonder to Polly, every line, every curve, according to rule. To-day, however, the “P” was a wee bit out of proportion, the “D” was slightly out of alignment, while the name showed a trifling tendency to run downhill. “Well!” she exclaimed under her breath, “what’s going to happen?” She dwelt upon it with a smile. Then she took up her paper-cutter and ran it under the flap. Her fingers were growing eager, and with a happy flutter of heart she pulled out the sheet. As she started to read, her face held a smile, but instantly a stare swept it away. Her eyes seemed to pierce the paper. They blazed with something like anger. “‘Appeal’!” she muttered scornfully, “‘appeal,’ indeed!” The letter fluttered to the floor, her hands went up to her face, and she began to cry. “Oh, David! David!” she whispered, “how could you! It isn’t true! You know it isn’t true!” She sat there a long time. Then she picked up the sheet and read it again. Her face grew hard and resentful. “‘Smile of understanding’! He won’t want me to smile at all pretty soon.” She sighed. “By next week he’ll be ‘appealing’ to me. He’ll be sure to come back, if I keep still. He always does. I know David! I’ve half a mind not to answer him when he does ‘appeal.’ Let him have a taste of his own porridge.” She went over the letter again, slowly, sentence by sentence. MISS POLLY: Since it is plainly evident that you desire your freedom from the slender bonds that bind us together, I wish to assure you that from this moment they are broken, and you are free as if they had never been. To continue the relations which have existed between us for the few years past would only pile up wretchedness for us both, and it is best to annul them. Many times I have foreseen this. On the day we took that walk to Chimney Hill and I noted the smile of understanding which passed between you and that darned Ely, I knew that sooner or later this would come. Yesterday when I heard of your intimacy with the same unbearable puppy, your rides alone with him as soon as I was out of the way, convinced me that the time for the break has arrived. You need not attempt any explanation or appeal. My mind is made up forever. Nothing can change my decision.