yed with
only a "well, well, Missy." With the boards of one box he made a snug
door for the other box and he found, hidden away, some precious leather
that could be cut into strips for hinges, and a square of oil cloth and
canvas, too. There were more nails in the tool-box, and though old
Jonathan guarded that tool-box like a treasure-chest, he'd give Nancy
anything it held!

They labored feverishly, and within an hour Nancy declared their work
done.

"Now come with me, Jonathan, and I'll show you my secret." She lifted
the box and started toward the orchard, Jonathan trudging after her.

When they reached the last tree near the cliff Nancy set her burden
down. She turned to her companion with a solemn face.

"Jonathan, no one is going to know this secret but you and me! I am a
dramatist. You don't look as though you knew what that was, but it is
something that it's very, _very_ hard to be, and I shall have to
work--like everything! Right up on the branch of that tree is where
I'm going to work. I want you to take those nails I put in your pocket
and fasten this box securely to the trunk of the tree. Then I'm going
to keep all my things right in it and fasten it with this padlock
I--borrowed--from your tool-box. It'll be just like a nest--and I'll
steal out here and work and work and then, some day, when I'm famous,
all the newspapers will print a story telling how I wrote my first play
in an apple tree and that it was a secret between you and me, and
they'll want _your_ picture! Now, right here, Jonathan. I'll hold it
and you nail it tight."

Jonathan _didn't_ know what a dramatist was, but he did know that his
"little Missy," perched on the old branch, was as pretty as any bird
and her eyes as bright as the sunshine that filtered through the leaves
of the tree.

"Oh, that's just fine," cried Nancy, springing to the ground to survey
their work. "It's as safe as can be and you've helped me a _lot_, you
dear old thing, you. Now we must hurry home or B'lindy's dinner will
be cold and remember, cross your heart, this is a solemn, solemn
secret!"

She drew her fingers across his worn, gray sweater, and he nodded in
acceptance of the mysterious sign. And as he followed her back through
the orchard to the house something within his breast seemed to sing the
way it did each spring when he found the first crocus peeping up
through the frosty earth.

Nancy found it difficult to keep from bolting through