nd Sherm. Chicken Little
was with them. He gave the boy this second message, explaining what he
had done. Sherm read it over and over, as if he hoped in some way to
find a reason for his mother's decision lurking between the lines.

At length he said stolidly: "I'll wait till to-morrow. Perhaps the
letter will come to-night."

They talked it over and Sherm and Chicken Little went on to town with
the light buggy to wait for the mail, while Dr. Morton and Frank drove
home.

There was a handful of letters in the box. Sherm took them out hastily.

"I guess this is it," he said, stuffing one into his pocket. "And here's
three for you."

"Three? Whoever from?" Jane held out her hand. "Ernest and Katy--and
here's another with an Annapolis postmark. Who do you suppose?"

Sherm glanced over her shoulder. "That's Carol Brown's handwriting."

"Carol?--writing to me? How funny!"

They hurried out to the team.

"Let me drive while you read your letter, Sherm."

Sherm shook his head. "Read yours first--this will keep."

"The idea--I wouldn't be so piggy selfish."

"Please, Jane, I'd rather get out of town before I tackle it."

"Sherm, I wish I could----" She didn't need to finish. Sherm understood.

"Read Carol's first," he said.

She read it with a beaming face. Sherm was looking at her without seeing
her. She started to tell him the contents of the letter, then suddenly
stopped. She couldn't rejoice over being asked to a hop when Sherm was
in such trouble. Laying the letter in her lap, she took up Ernest's.
Sherm noticed the movement and, remembering, asked her what Carol had to
say.

She handed him the letter. He read it through absently. The houses were
thinning along the road. The prairie stretched ahead of them in solitary
sweeps of tender green, dappled with flowers. Jane reached for the
reins.

"Read your letter, Sherm."

He obeyed in silence. Chicken Little kept her eyes on the road ahead. A
sharp exclamation from Sherm startled her:

"God, it can't be true!"

Sherm swearing? She looked at him in amazement. The boy was not
swearing; he had cried out in utter agony. He dropped the letter on the
floor of the buggy and buried his face in his hands.

"Sherm, Sherm, what is it?" Chicken Little was frightened.

He did not answer. He did not seem to have noticed that she had spoken.
She reached over and touched him. "Sherm! Sherm!" He shook off her hand
impatiently.

Chicken Little hesitated a moment,