s--glimpsed through the green leaves? Fancy you're not
knowing the happiness of the country! I've always known it. Perhaps the
trouble was I had too much of it. My town was an ancient, respectable,
revolutionary relic set in a very beautiful rolling country near the
sea; but I suppose I caught the infection--the country rolled, the
breakers rolled, and finally I rolled out of it all--over and over
plump into Gotham! And I didn't land on my feet, either.... You are
correct, Valerie; there is something humorous about this world....
There's one of the jokes, now!" as a native passed, hunched up on the
dashboard, driving a horse and a heifer in double harness.

"Shall we go to the post office with him?" cried Valerie, jumping to her
feet.

[Illustration: "Valerie sat cross-legged on the grass ... scribbling
away."]

"Now, dear, what is the use of our going to the post office when nobody
knows our address and we never could possibly expect a letter!"

"That is true," said Valerie, pensively. "Rita, I'm beginning to think
I'd like to have a letter. I believe--believe that I'll write to--to
somebody."

"That is more than I'll do," yawned Rita, closing her eyes. She opened
them presently and said:

"I've a nice little writing case in my trunk. Sam presented it. Bring it
out here if you're going to write."

The next time she unclosed her eyes Valerie sat cross-legged on the
grass by the hammock, the writing case on her lap, scribbling away as
though she really enjoyed it.

The letter was to Neville. It ran on:

"Rita is asleep in a hammock; she's too pretty for words. I love her.
Why? Because she loves me, silly!

"I'm a very responsive individual, Kelly, and a pat on the head elicits
purrs.

"I want you to write to me. Also, pray be flattered; you are the only
person on earth who now has my address. I _may_ send it to Jose Querida;
but that is none of your business. When I saw the new moon on the
stump-pond last night I certainly did wish for Querida and a canoe. He
can sing very charmingly.

"Now I suppose you want to know under what circumstances I have
permitted myself to wish for you. If you talk to a man about another man
he always attempts to divert the conversation to himself. Yes, he does.
And you are no better than other men, Louis--not exempt from their
vanities and cunning little weaknesses. Are you?

"Well, then, as you admit that you are thoroughly masculine, I'll admit
that deep in a corner of my