rying to do
something to--to help Hilary to get well; can't you see that I wouldn't
want her to know, until I was sure, really sure, it was going to come
to something?"

Patience gave a little jump of excitement. "How jolly! But who have
you been writing to--about it, Paul!"

"I haven't said that--"

"See here, Paul, I'll play fair, if you do; but if you go trying to act
any 'grown-up sister' business I'll--"

And Pauline capitulated. "I can't tell you about it yet, Patty; father
said not to. I want you to promise not to ask questions, or say
anything about it, before Hilary. We don't want her to get all worked
up, thinking something nice is going to happen, and then maybe have her
disappointed."

"Will it be nice--very nice?"

"I hope so."

"And will I be in it?"

"I don't know. I don't know what it'll be, or when it'll be."

"Oh, dear! I wish you did. I can't think who it is you wrote to,
Paul. And why didn't father like your doing it?"

"I haven't said that he--"

"Paul, you're very tiresome. Didn't he know you were going to do it?"

Pauline gathered up her cups and saucers without answering.

"Then he didn't," Patience observed. "Does mother know about it?"

"I mean to tell her as soon as I get a good chance," Pauline said
impatiently, going back to the dining-room.

When she returned a few moments later, she found Patience still in the
pantry, sitting thoughtfully on the old, blue sugar bucket. "I know,"
Patience announced triumphantly. "You've been writing to Uncle Paul!"

Pauline gasped and fled to the kitchen; there were times when flight
was the better part of discretion, in dealing with the youngest member
of the Shaw family.

On the whole, Patience behaved very well that evening, only, on going
to bid her father good-night, did she ask anxiously, how long it took
to send a letter to New York and get an answer.

"That depends considerably upon the promptness with which the party
written to answers the letter," Mr. Shaw told her.

"A week?" Patience questioned.

"Probably--if not longer."

Patience sighed.

"Have _you_ been writing a letter to someone in New York?" her father
asked.

"No, indeed," the child said gravely, "but," she looked up, answering
his glance. "Paul didn't tell me, father; I--guessed. Uncle Paul does
live in New York, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Mr. Shaw answered, almost sharply. "Now run to bed, my dear."

But when the stairs were reached. Patien