elf into her husband's arms.
"Oh, Caleb, I--just would! I--I 've wanted to ever so long, but--I
just would n't own up."

"There, there," soothed the man, with loving pats, his face alight,
"we'll come back, so we will; we'll come back right away."

Ethel and Fred ran shouting from the summer-house, and Sarah raised a
tear-stained face.

"Well, anyhow," she laughed softly, "now we can see just how high that
rosebush does get!"

The Letter

Monday noon the postman gave the letter to twelve-year-old Emily, and
Emily in turn handed it to her young brother. Between the gate and the
door, however, Teddy encountered Rover, and Rover wanted to play. It
ended in the letter disappearing around the corner of the house, being
fast held in the jaws of a small black-and-tan dog.

Five minutes later the assembled family in the dining-room heard of the
loss and demanded an explanation.

"'T wasn't t-ten minutes ago, mother," stammered Emily defensively.
"The postman handed it to me and I gave it to Teddy to bring in."

"But whose letter was it?" demanded several voices.

Emily shook her head.

"I don't know," she faltered.

"Don't know! Why, daughter, how could you be so careless?" cried Mrs.
Clayton. "It is probably that note from the Bixbys--they were to write
if they could not come. But I should like to know what they said."

"But it might have been to me," cut in Ethel. (Ethel was pretty,
eighteen, and admired.)

There was a sudden exclamation across the table as James, the
first-born, pushed back his chair.

"Confound it, Emily, you've got us in a pretty mess! It so happened I
was looking for a letter myself," he snapped, as he jerked himself to
his feet. "See here, Teddy, where did that rascally little dog go to?
Come, let's go find Rover," he finished, stooping and lifting the small
boy to his shoulder. The next moment the dining-room door had banged
behind them.

"Dear, dear!" laughed Mrs. Clayton, a little hysterically, turning to
her husband. "You don't happen to be expecting a letter, do you,
Charles?"

"I do happen to be--and a very important one, too," returned the man;
and Mrs. Clayton, after a nervous glance at his frowning face, subsided
into her chair with a murmured word of regret. When luncheon was over
she slipped from the room and joined in the hunt for Rover.

They scoured the yard, the street, the house, and the woodshed, finding
the culprit at last in the barn asleep unde