ed. "No doubt that will
explain."

But Shelley never touched it. She handled those letters and stared at
them. Father and mother came through the orchard and stood together
behind us, so father knelt down at last, reached across Shelley's
shoulder, picked one up and looked at it.

"Have you good word, dear?" asked mother of Shelley.

"Why, I don't understand at all," said Shelley. "Just look at all
these queer letters, addressed to Mr. Paget. Why should they be sent
to me? I mustn't open them. They're not mine. There must be some
mistake."

"These are DEAD LETTERS," said father. "They've been written to you,
couldn't be delivered, and so were sent to the Dead Letter Office at
Washington, which returned them to the writer, and unopened he has
forwarded them once more to you. You've heard of dead letters, haven't
you?"

"I suppose so," said Shelley. "I don't remember just now; but there
couldn't be a better name. They've come mighty near killing me."

"If you'd only read that note!" urged May, putting it right into her
fingers.

Shelley still sat there.

"I'm afraid of it," she said exactly like I'd have spoken if there had
been a big rattlesnake coming right at me, when I'd nothing at hand to
bruise it.

Laddie and Leon came from the barn. They had heard me calling, seen
May and me run, and then father and mother coming down, so they walked
over.

"What's up?" asked Leon. "Has Uncle Levi's will been discovered, and
does mother get his Mexican mines?"

"What have you got, Shelley?" asked Laddie, kneeling beside her, and
picking up one of the yellow letters.

"I hardly know," said Shelley.

"I brought her a big letter with all those little ones and a note in
it, and they are from the Paget man," I explained to him. "But she
won't even read the note, and see what he writes. She says she's
afraid."

"Poor child! No wonder!" said Laddie, sitting beside her and putting
his arm around her. "Suppose I read it for you. May I?"

"Yes," said Shelley. "You read it. Read it out loud. I don't care."

She leaned against him, while he unfolded the white sheet.

"Umph!" he said. "This DOES look bad for you. It begins: 'My own
darling Girl.'"

"Let me see!" cried Shelley, suddenly straightening, and reaching her
hand.

Laddie held the page toward her, but she only looked, she didn't offer
to touch it.

"'My own darling Girl:'" repeated Laddie tenderly, making it mean just
all he possi