zy name."
Eager to have her dreams to herself, she forsook the window for her own
room, and shut the door.

The next morning, while Johnnie and Grandpa were returning from the
field of Gettysburg, here, ascending from the area came the shrill
voice of the Italian janitress: "Johnnie Smith! Johnnie Smith!"

That meant the postman. And the postman was an event, for he came not
oftener than once in three months, this to fetch a long, official
envelope that had to do with Grandpa's pension. But the pension was not
due again for several weeks. So what did the postman have to leave?

Bursting with curiosity, excitement and importance, Johnnie very nearly
broke his neck between his own door and the brick pave. And here was a
letter addressed to himself: Johnnie Smith, in Mr. Thos. Barber's flat.
Then the street and the number, the whole having been written on a
typewriter.

"Why--! Why--! Who can it be from?" Johnnie muttered, turning the letter
over and over, while heads popped out of windows, and sundry small fry
gathered about Johnnie and the postman.

"Maybe you'd find out if you opened it," suggested the latter, who was
curious himself.

Johnnie opened; and drew forth a single large page, white and neat, when
it was unfolded. Upon it was written a short, polite note which read:

"_Dear Johnnie, I'm going away for a few days. Cannot tell just when I
shall be back. Take care of yourself. Yours very respectfully,--_" Here
One-Eye had signed his name.

The signature was hard to make out. Not only because it was badly
written but because there was something the matter with Johnnie's eyes.
"One-Eye's goin' away," he told the postman, not ashamed of the tears he
wiped on the back of a hand. "Oh, my goodness!" He climbed the stairs
with his square little chin on his breast.

Cis made him feel worse when she came home. Because instead of being
equally cast down, she was full of criticism. "My! One-Eye never wrote
that!" she declared. "A stenographer fixed that all up for him. Sure as
you live."

This was too much. Johnnie jerked the letter out of her hand. He caught
up Letitia by one dwindling arm and cast her headforemost into Cis's
room. And there is no telling what else might not have happened if, at
that moment, the janitress had not begun to call again, though this time
it was Cis she wanted. And what she had for Cis was a heavy pasteboard
box that was nearly as long as the table. In the box, wearing a truly
gorg