ld it open while she continued,
"I hope you'll forgive whoever is to blame, but when the hall was being
cleaned yesterday, James fished this out of the umbrella jar. Dear knows
how it got there or when; it looks as if it had been in a shipwreck."
She produced a stained and sorry-looking missive from her bag. "You can
just make out the address, the postmark is quite gone," she added,
laying it in her companion's lap. "You haven't missed an important
letter, have you?"

"Not that I know of," Margaret Elizabeth replied with a laugh that was
a bit unsteady. "It is probably nothing of value." She kept her gaze on
the road ahead. "Just slip it in my pocket, please."

All the rest of the way to the park her heart thumped uncomfortably.
Could it be? Of course not, it was an advertisement. Why get excited?
Meanwhile she chatted pleasantly with Dr. Prue.

"All you need is fresh air and a simple life for a while. Your colour
has come back wonderfully," the doctor remarked as they drew up at the
cottage gate. "Will you wait for me here?"

"If you don't mind, I think I'll go into the park, and if I'm not back
by the time you are ready, don't wait. I can take the street car."

Turning in at the entrance to the park, Margaret Elizabeth was for a
fleeting moment aware of a Candy Wagon standing at the curb a few yards
away. There was nothing unusual in this except the odd way in which it
fitted into the situation, and the next moment she had forgotten
everything but the letter in her hand.

She walked slowly down the path. The April sunshine sifted through a
faint and feathery greenness overhead, the air was clear and fresh. She
was thinking that she had seen just one little scrap of the Candy Man's
writing--on the card accompanying the Christmas basket; and this on the
letter was blurred and stained, yet she was sure of it. He had written.
She had been sure he would. She was glad. She would be honest with
herself. She wanted him for a friend. In many ways she liked him better
than any one she had met this winter. She wanted to know more about him.

She tried to tear the letter open, but for all it was so damaged the
paper had remained tough. She would wait to read it till she reached the
summer house. That little vine-hung arbour had been in her thought ever
since Dr. Prue proposed to bring her down to the park. She had a foolish
desire to sit there and look at the river, and go on being honest with
herself.

Margaret Elizabet