"It's this way, Joe," he replied; "there wa'n't no postige stamp on the letter, an' Sam Cotting said it couldn't be posted no way 'thout a stamp." "It wasn't to be sent through the post-office," said the boy. "I gave you a quarter to deliver it in person to Miss Ethel." "Did ye, Joe? did ye?" "Of course I did." "Cur'ous," said McNutt, leaning over to touch the foot cautiously with one finger, to see if the paint was dry. "Well, sir!" "Well, Joe, there's no use gittin' mad 'bout it. Thet blamed quarter ye giv me rolled down a crack in the stoop, an' got lost. Sure. Got lost as easy as anything." "Well, what was that to me?" "Oh, I ain't blamin' you," said Peggy; "but 'twere a good deal to me, I kin tell ye. A whole quarter lost!" "Why didn't you take up a board, and get it again?" "Oh, I did," said McNutt. cheerfully. "I did, Joe. But the money was all black an' tarnished like, by thet time, an' didn't look at all like silver. Sam he wouldn't take it at the store, so my ol' woman she 'lowed she'd polish it up a bit. Ye know how sort o' vig'rous she is, Joe. She polished that blamed quarter the same way she jaws an' sweeps; she polished it 'til she rubbed both sides smooth as glass, an' then Sam wouldn't take it, nuther, 'n' said it wasn't money any more. So I drilled two holes in it an' sewed it on my pants fer a 'spender butt'n." "But why didn't you deliver the letter?" "Did ye 'spect I'd tramp way t' Thompson's Crossing fer nuthin'?" "I gave you a quarter." "An' it turned out to be on'y a 'spender butt'n. Be reason'ble, Joe." "Where is the letter?" "'Tain't a letter no more. It's on'y ol' fambly papers by this time. Three years is----" "Where is it? By thunder, Peggy, if you don't answer me I'll put you in jail for breach of trust!" "Ye've changed, Joe," sadly. "Ye ain't no more like----" "Where is it?" "Behind the lookin'-glass in my sett'n-room." "Go and get it immediately, sir!" "Ef I hev to cross thet dusty road twic't more, I'll hev to paint all over agin, an' thet's a fact." "Ethel," said Joe, with the calmness of despair, "you'll have to telephone over to the Junction and ask them to send a constable here at once." "Never mind," cried McNutt, jumping up hastily; "I'll go. Paint don't cost much, nohow." He stumped away, but on his return preferred to let Kate carry the soiled, torn envelope up to the young folks. The letter had palpably been tampered with. It had been opened and doubtless read, and the flap clumsily glued down again. But Ethel had it now, and even after three years her sweet eyes dimmed as she read the tender words that Joe had written because he lacked the courage to speak them. "My one great ambition is to win a home for us, dear," he had declared, and with this before her eyes Ethel reproached herself for ever doubting his love or loyalty.