familiar strain which carried little Mrs.
Moira back to Beryl's baby days. Then the lullaby swung into the deeper
tones of a Christmas anthem and again into a tempestuous outburst of
melody, as though Beryl had let loose all at once the riotous feelings
that surged within her.

Just as the last note died away a bell pealed through the house. Because
it was still Christmas, really being only nine o'clock, everyone looked
for a surprise. And a surprise it was, indeed, when Harkness placed an
impressive envelope in Robin's hands and said that a stranger had
brought it to the door.

"He looked like one of these motorcycle men, but before I could as much
as say 'Good evening' he was off in the dark."

Robin studied the address, which was printed. It gave no clue
whatsoever. Nor was there anything else on the envelope. She broke the
sealed flap, with an excited giggle. Five crisp bank-notes fell out.

"For goodness' sake," cried Beryl, staring. "Who ever sent them?"

"TO MISS GORDON FORSYTH. Please use this money for your House of
Laughter. I am deeply interested in your experiment. Frankly, I do
not believe it will work; but if it does my little contribution
will be well spent; and if it doesn't, my own conviction will be
justified.

YOUR FRIEND NEAR THE RUSHING WATER."

Beryl squealed with delight. "How _larky_ to have her remember every
solitary thing you told her, Robin--even what we called her house. What
are you going to do with it all? I wish _I_ could get money like that."

Robin stood staring at the letter--not at all jubilant over the
unexpected gift. "I wish she hadn't said she didn't believe the
experiment would work. It _isn't_ an experiment and it _will_ work. I'm
not _trying_ anything, am I?" appealing to Mrs. Lynch, who hastily
assured her with a "No, dearie." Then Robin gathered up the bank-notes.

"Though I did wish we had more nice things for the house and now we can
get them. But isn't this an awful lot of money?" For she had seen a one
and two ciphers in a corner of one bank-note. "I never had so much in my
life."

At this Mrs. Budge sniffed and, the Christmas celebration apparently
abandoned in the excitement of the strange letter, she departed
kitchenward.

Harkness volunteered to escort Susy and Mrs. Lynch back to the village.
In a twinkling the house had quieted so that the girls' footsteps, as
they climbed the stairs, resounded