m, and there will be no more delivered to you."

"_Never?_" gasped Peace.

"Well,--not for months and months and months. I don't know exactly how
we can get the matter fixed up now."

"And will they keep all my _Christmas_ packages, too?"

"If they come addressed to you."

"Where's my pencil and postcards?" She began a wild, scrambling search,
through the drawers of the table which always stood beside her chair.

"What do you want of them?" the man inquired with considerable
curiosity.

"Why, I've got to write everyone I know and tell 'em if they want to
send me anything for Christmas or my birthday, or any other time, to
address it on the outside to Allee," she retorted, scribbling away
energetically.

CHAPTER VIII

ALLEE'S ALBUM

"You are late, Allee." Peace had watched the little figure ever since it
had turned the corner a block further down the street, and noted with
increasing anxiety that the usually swift feet tonight were lagging and
slow. Indeed, so abstracted was the belated scholar that she almost
forgot to turn in at her own gate, and in Peace's mind this could mean
only one thing,--Allee had fallen below grade in her arithmetic that
afternoon and had been kept after school to make it up. As a further
indication that this was the case, she was intently studying the front
page of a scratch-tablet, and when Peace called to her, she hastily hid
the paper under her apron, while her rosy cheeks grew rosier still, and
a look of guilty alarm flew into her blue eyes.

"Am I?" She tried to speak naturally, but suspicious Peace detected the
strained note in her voice, and demanded, "Were you kept after school?"

"Yes,--no,--not really school."

"What do you mean by that? Cherry's been home for more'n half an hour."

"That long?" Allee's amazement was too genuine to doubt.

"Yes, and you said you'd come home the minute school was out so's we
could finish that puzzle and send it off."

"I didn't mean to stay so long. It seemed only a minute, Peace, truly."
Allee was deeply penitent.

"Where have you been? To see Miss Edith?"

"No--o--"

"And what's that you are hiding under your apron? Allee Greenfield,
you've got a secret from me!" cried Peace, much aggrieved.

Poor Allee's face flushed crimson, the frank eyes wavered and fell, and
a meek voice stammered, "I--I--'tisn't really a secret, Peace."

"What is it then?"

"I was afraid you would laugh at me--"

"Why? What is there to lau