ut the trouble.

Presently the Spectacle Man came with the evening paper, and was
surprised and pleased to see her.

"Mr. Clark," she began, "I have a broken bridge to mend."

"Is that so? I hope it will not give you much trouble."

Frances sighed and put her face down on Peterkin's soft coat for a
moment. "I am afraid it will," she said, and then she told the story.

The Spectacle Man listened gravely. "I don't believe the bridge is
really broken," he said; "it is only invisible beneath the clouds of
anger and unkindness."

Frances drew a very deep breath. "Then what can I do?" she asked.

"How was it in the story?"

"But the young man had a fairy to help him.

"I don't think you need one; love and courage can find a way," said Mr.
Clark.

Frances went upstairs very soberly. "Mother, I believe I'll write to
Gladys," she said, going at once to her desk. It took a good deal of
time and thought, but it was finished at last, and she felt a weight
lifted from her heart as she put it in the envelope. This is what she
wrote:--

"DEAR GLADYS: I am sorry I behaved so the other day. I was mad
because you said Emma cheated, and I thought I had a right to be;
but I know now I ought not to have been in a passion. It was a
mistake; Emma did play wrong, but she didn't know any better.
Gladys, I have found the moral of the story. The bridge between
you and me is invisible because of the clouds of anger. I want to
find it again, don't you?

"Your friend,
"FRANCES MORRISON."

This note was despatched by Wilson, and bright and early next day Gladys
answered it in person. She went to Frances and kissed her. "I am not mad
with you any more," she said; "it was nice of you to write that note,
and I am sorry I said Emma cheated."

After this, Frances was as merry as a cricket, and went about singing:--

"The bridge is broke and I have to mend it,"

till her mother was forced to beg for a little variety.

Meanwhile the story of "The Missing Bridge," with some changes and
additions, and accompanied by two charming illustrations, had gone to
seek its fortune in the office of _The Young People's Journal_, and it
was no longer a secret that Miss Sherwin was in the habit of writing
stories and had already met with considerable success.

Frances thought this a strong bond between them, "For father writes
stories too, you know," she would often say.

It was about this time that the fir