f ten weeks, a note came to her, written on a
rough sheet of paper, the envelope marked by a foreign stamp.

It ran thus:

"Dear Florence:--I am sure you have worried over my
disappearance. Perhaps you thought I was dead, but I was
never better in my life. I am on the ship _Columbia_, bound
for San Francisco, around Cape Horn; and just now, as one of
the officers tells me, we are off the coast of Brazil.

"There is a ship coming north, and we are going to hail her
and give her letters to carry home, so I hope these few lines
will reach you all right. I suppose I am in for it, and must
keep on to San Francisco. But I haven't told you yet how I
came here.

"It was through a trick of your cousin, Curtis Waring. I
haven't time to tell you about it; but I was drugged and
brought aboard in my sleep; when I woke up I was forty miles
at sea.

"Don't worry about me, for I have a good friend on board, Mr.
Randolph Leslie, who has been a reporter on one of the New
York daily papers. He advises me to get something to do in
San Francisco, and work till I have earned money enough to
get home. He says I can do better there, where I am not
known, and can get higher pay. He is giving me lessons every
day, and he says I am learning fast.

"The ship is almost here, and I must stop. Take good care of
yourself, and remember me to Mrs. O'Keefe, and I will write
you again as soon as I get to San Francisco.

"Dodger.

"P. S.--Don't let on to Curtis that you have heard from me,
or he might try to play me some trick in San Francisco."

Florence's face was radiant when she had read the letter.

Dodger was alive, well, and in good spirits. The letter arrived during
the afternoon, and she put on her street dress at once and went over
to the apple-stand and read the letter to Mrs. O'Keefe.

"Well, well!" ejaculated the apple-woman. "So it's that ould thafe of
the worruld, Curtis Waring, that has got hold of poor Dodger, just as
Tim told us. It seems mighty quare to me that he should want to stale
poor Dodger. If it was you, now, I could understand it."

"It seems strange to me, Mrs. O'Keefe," said Florence, thoughtfully.
"I thought it might be because Dodger was my friend, but that doesn't
seem to be sufficient explanation. Don't you think we ought to show
this letter to Mr. Bolton?"