rly!" he said.

"For what?" said our Uncle Peter.

Our Father jingled the twenty nickles in his hand. "For all favors," he
said.

Our Uncle Peter said he was perfectly repaid. He made a frown at my
Father.

When bed-time came I climbed up into my Mother's lap and told her all
about it,--the house,--the cocoa,--the toy Ferris Wheel,--the blue
daisies on the stair carpet,--the pigeon that lit on my window-sill in
the morning,--the splashy way Tiger Lily lapped his milk.

"It will be interesting," said my Mother, "to see what we hear from
Tiger Lily as Time goes on."

Time went on pretty quickly. Pansies happened and yellow poppies and
ducks and two kittens and August.

It wasn't till almost Autumn that we ever heard from Tiger Lily or the
little boy again.

When the letter came it was from the little boy. But it was the Lady who
wrote it.

We thought her writing would be all black and sorrowful. But it was
violet-colored instead, with all the ends of her letters quirked up
with surprise like her face, only prancier.

"My dear little friends," wrote the Lady, "Dicky wishes me
to tell you how much we enjoyed your delightful visit, and
to say that Tiger Lily is a sweet dog. He thinks you are
mistaken about Tiger Lily not hunting. Tiger Lily hunts very
well he says,--'only different.' It's mice, he wants me to
tell you, that Tiger Lily is very fierce about. And bugs of
any sort. All in-door hunting in fact. Certainly our
wood-boxes and our fire-places have been kept absolutely
free of mice this entire season. And Cook says that not a
June Bug has survived. Truly it's very gratifying. Also
Dicky wants me to tell you that there's a field. It's got a
brook in it where you can sail boats and everything. It's
most a mile. This is all for this time Dicky says.

"With affectionate regards, I am, etc.----"

Our Mother looked up across the top of the letter. It was at my Father
that she looked.

"Poor dear Lady," she said. "I hope she's happier now. It's that Mrs.
Harnon, you know. Her marriage was so unfortunate to that dreadful
Harnon man."

"U--m--m," said my Father.

We read the letter over and over waiting for the next one and wondering
about Tiger Lily.

There wasn't any next one till most Thanksgiving. When it came at last
it was Dicky's letter just the same, but it was written in our Uncle
Peter's handwriting this time. It seemed funn