“Well, I'm just as glad as I can be,” she said joyously when at last Mr. Hartley thought he had better be moving on, and thought at the same time, too, I venture, that it was something to have won that race, if only to have caused such gladness.
“You haven't any letters for us, have you?” she added, as he turned to go down the step and she caught sight of the leather bag swung across his shoulder.
“Why, yes, I have,” diving into its depths, and angry at himself for his forgetfulness; “it's an important letter, too, I reckon; it's from England.”
“Why, so it is!” her eyes fairly dancing with delight and surprise. “It's from Harold, and we haven't heard from him in ever so long; but oh, dear, it's for papa, isn't it, and he's out driving.”
“You won't have very long to wait,” said Chris, smiling at her impatience, “if you're expecting him home to dinner.”
“But we're not, that's the bother of it. He and mamma are going to dine at the Crescent Club afterward, and I shall have to be sound asleep when they come home.” Then she asked after a moment of serious cogitation, “Do you suppose, Chris, that any of the children along your route open their fathers' letters, when they are sure they're from their cousins?”
“I can't say about that,” laughed Chris, as he went down the steps. “You know best; good-night, I'm off now.”
“Good-night, Chris,” rather absent-mindedly, and with eyes and thoughts still intent upon the letter. Would it be such a dreadful thing to open it? It was so hard not to know right away what was in it. She had never seen this English Cousin Harold, but when they had exchanged photographs at Christmas-time he had sent such a beautiful letter that she had come to feel that they were the best of friends. But no, hard as it was, she felt certain it would really be best not to open it; so she would put the letter in her pocket, and when she went to bed she would slide it under her pillow, and then only take little cat-naps until her father and mother should come home, and she could tell them about it, and hear what was in it. But alas! for the little cat-naps; for the lights blinked brightly in the harbor, and the ferry-boats whistled and let off steam in deafening fashion, and the stars came out, and the moon came up, and papa and mamma came home, and chatted gayly besides, with the door wide open into her room, and yet Marie-Celeste never wakened, and Harold's important letter lay sealed and unread, and as flat as a fluffy head could press it until the light of another morning.