irst of all how dear you are
to me. Please telegraph. Robert.'"

"Saddle a horse, Leon!" father cried as he unstrapped his wallet.

"Laddie, take down her message."

"Can you put it into ten words?" asked Laddie.

"Mother, what would you say?" questioned Shelley.

Leon held up his fingers and curled down one with each word. "Say,
'Dear Robert. Well and happy. Come when you get ready.'"

"But then I won't know when he's coming," objected Shelley. "You don't
need to," said Leon. "You can take it for granted from that epistolary
effusion that he won't let the grass grow under his feet while coming
here. That's a bully message! It sounds as if you weren't crazy over
him, and it's a big compliment to mother. Looks as if she didn't have
to know when people are coming--like she's ready all the time."

"Write it out and let me see," said Shelley.

So Laddie wrote it, and she looked at it a long time, it seemed to me,
at last she said: "I don't like that 'get.' It doesn't sound right.
Wouldn't 'are' be better?"

"Come when you are ready," repeated Laddie. "Yes, that's better.
'Get' sounds rather saucy."

"Why not put it, 'Come when you choose?'" suggested mother. "That will
leave a word to spare, so it won't look as if you had counted them and
used exactly ten on purpose, and it doesn't sound as if you expected
him to make long preparations, like the other. That will leave it with
him to start whenever he likes."

"Yes! yes!" cried Shelley. "That's much better! Say, 'Come when you
choose!'"

"Right!" said Laddie as he wrote it. "Now I'll take this!"

"Oh no you won't!" cried Leon. "Father told me to saddle my horse.
She's got enough speed in her to beat yours a mile. I take that!
Didn't you say for me to saddle, father?"

"Such important business, I think I better," said Laddie, and Leon
began to cry.

"I think you should both go," said Shelley. "It is so important, and
if one goes to make a mistake, maybe the other will notice it."

"Yes, that's the best way," said mother.

"Yes, both go," said father.

It was like one streak when they went up the Big Hill. Father shook
his head. "Poor judgment--that," he said. "Never run a horse up hill!"

"But they're in such a hurry," Shelley reminded him.

"So they are," said father. "In this case I might have broken the rule
myself. Now come all of you, and let the child get at her mail."

"But I want you to stay," said Shelley. "I'm so