to a faint tint of blue in it, unlike
his sister's, the baby's, or any other hand he had ever seen. "Can you
read?" she said suddenly, withdrawing the letter.

The boy flushed slightly at the question. "Of course I can," he said
proudly.

"Of course, certainly," she repeated quickly; "but," she added, with
a mischievous smile, "you mustn't NOW! Promise me! Promise me that you
won't read this address, but just post the letter, like one of your own,
in the letter-box with the others."

Leonidas promised readily; it seemed to him a great fuss about nothing;
perhaps it was some kind of game or a bet. He opened his sunburnt hand,
holding his own letters, and she slipped hers, face downward, between
them. Her soft fingers touched his in the operation, and seemed to leave
a pleasant warmth behind them.

"Promise me another thing," she added; "promise me you won't say a word
of this to any one."

"Of course!" said Leonidas.

"That's a good boy, and I know you will keep your word." She hesitated
a moment, smilingly and tentatively, and then held out a bright
half-dollar. Leonidas backed from the fence. "I'd rather not," he said
shyly.

"But as a present from ME?"

Leonidas colored--he was really proud; and he was also bright enough to
understand that the possession of such unbounded wealth would provoke
dangerous inquiry at home. But he didn't like to say it, and only
replied, "I can't."

She looked at him curiously. "Then--thank you," she said, offering her
white hand, which felt like a bird in his. "Now run on, and don't let
me keep you any longer." She drew back from the fence as she spoke, and
waved him a pretty farewell. Leonidas, half sorry, half relieved, darted
away.

He ran to the post-office, which he never had done before. Loyally he
never looked at her letter, nor, indeed, at his own again, swinging
the hand that held them far from his side. He entered the post-office
directly, going at once to the letter-box and depositing the precious
missive with the others. The post-office was also the "country store,"
and Leonidas was in the habit of still further protracting his errands
there by lingering in that stimulating atmosphere of sugar, cheese, and
coffee. But to-day his stay was brief, so transitory that the postmaster
himself inferred audibly that "old man Boone must have been tanning Lee
with a hickory switch." But the simple reason was that Leonidas wished
to go back to the stockade fence and the fair