ter. "I can't say you are over-ceremonious with it, Babe."

"Don't care." And Phebe vanished as abruptly as she had come.

The letter was not from Billy. The handwriting was strange; and Theodora
turned it over and over nervously, before she ventured to open it. Then
of a sudden the color came into her cheeks, and her eyes flashed.
Seizing the letter, she opened the door and ran down the stairs.

"Hope! Hu! Somebody!" she called, with a glad, exultant note in her
voice.

She called again. Then she heard Phebe's voice from the lawn.

"I am here. What do you want?"

"Where is everybody?" Theodora asked, stepping out on the piazza.

"I'm here." Phebe's accent suggested that her feelings were hurt at the
question.

"Yes; but papa and mamma?"

"Driving."

"And Hope?"

"Mooning round with Archie somewhere."

"Where's Hu?"

"Gone for a ride."

"Then you'll be the first to hear my great news."

"Needn't tell me, unless you want. I don't care to be taken
Jack-at-a-pinch."

"I do want to tell you, Babe. I only thought I would wait till the
others were here; but I don't believe I can wait."

"What is it?" Phebe asked, her curiosity overcoming her momentary pique
as she looked at Theodora's radiant face.

"It's only that I've written a book and sent it to a publisher, and he
says it's good enough to publish."

"Really? Really and truly?" Phebe's face expressed her incredulity.
"Will he pay you a lot for it?"

"Something,--not a lot, though," Theodora answered, too much accustomed
to Phebe's lack of sympathy to be hurt by her words. "But that's not the
main thing, Babe. Think of the honor of it!"

"Hm!" Phebe said slowly. "It's the money I'd care for, Teddy. Ever so
many people have written books before, and some of them younger than
you."

Great was the rejoicing of the family, that day, when Theodora met them
at the dinner-table with her news. In the clamor of question and
congratulation, no word could be distinguished at first. Then Dr.
McAlister's voice, clear and quiet, hushed the others.

"Teddy, dear," he said tenderly; "I couldn't love you more than I do;
but this makes your old father very proud of you. I wish your own mother
could have known it."

And Mrs. McAlister added softly,--

"Perhaps she does, Jack."

The clamor broke out again.

"When did you--?"

"How did you ever--?"

"Why didn't you tell us that--?"

"How long--?"

"What will Billy Farrington say?" Hope asked at lengt