to amuse herself with wondering about it. Even
the postmark was obliterated. She decided then that the rich American,
who really was leaving for Switzerland at last, had written to say
farewell and to tell her when he was likely to return for the final
wind-up picnic he had promised to Old Keston.

She did not guess that the mysterious writing was well known to Denys
as that of one of Charlie Henchman's friends, and that she had said
to herself as she carried it in from the post-box, "What is Cecil
Greyburne writing to Gertrude for?"

At last curiosity overcame Gertrude. All the family were busy with
their breakfast and their own concerns. Conway and her father were
each buried in a daily paper, Willie and Tony had lesson books propped
in front of them, little Maud was engrossed in bread and milk, and
Mrs. Brougham and Denys at either end of the table were pouring
out tea, and cutting bread, and dispensing porridge and bacon, and
generally devoting themselves to the wants of the family. Nobody was
heeding Gertrude, and she opened her letter and glanced first at the
signature.

Cecil Greyburne!

She was distinctly conscious of a feeling of disappointment, but in
a moment she pushed that aside. It was pleasant to find Cecil had not
forgotten her, though the note was but a short one, nothing to compare
in length with the one that had accompanied the Easter card which he
had ridden fast and far to post.

"MY DEAR GERTRUDE," the note ran, "You know I am always trotting about
the country for my work, and on Monday afternoon I find I pass through
Old Keston station, waiting three minutes by the official time-table
(probably that will mean five). I meant to call in and give you all a
surprise visit, but find there is no suitable train to carry me on
later. If some of you are near the station at 5.15 and can waste a few
minutes on a chat, it would cheer a hot and tiring journey and make it
seem worth while. I shall be in the front of the train; at least half of
me will be, the other half will be outside the window watching for you.

"Yours truly,
"CECIL GREYBURNE."

Monday afternoon at 5.15! Gertrude's memory rapidly ran through her
list of Monday classes and pupils. One of the pupils was ill and, a
most unusual thing, she would be free at four o'clock! She need not go
to the station in her school dress, but have time to come home and
put on something pretty. It was very jolly of Cecil to have thought of
wri