r the big automobile. Of
the letter, however, there was not a trace.

"Dear, dear, if dogs only could talk!" moaned Mrs. Clayton that night
as, restless and full of fancies, she lay on her bed. "If only I knew
where and what that letter was. But then, of course, it's from the
Bixbys; I'm going to think so, anyway," she comforted herself, and
resolutely closed her eyes.

"If that _should_ be Dennison's letter," mused Mr. Clayton as he locked
up the house; "if that should be--confound it, and I know it is! I 'd
swear it! It serves me right, too, I suppose, for telling him to write
me at the house instead of at the office. Confound that little beast
of a dog!"

In the south chamber Ethel, sending long, even strokes over the brown
satin of her hair, eyed her image in the glass with a plaintive pout.

"Now, if that letter _should_ be an invitation from Fred!" she said
aloud. "And when I 'd so much rather go on that ride with him! Oh,
dear! Where can Rover have put it?"

Across the hall James Clayton paced the room from end to end.

"Great Scott! What if it _were_ May's letter, after all?" he groaned.
"What a fool I was to leave it that if I did n't hear by Thursday night
I'd understand 'twas 'no'! And now she may have written and be
expecting me to-morrow, Wednesday,--_to-night_, even, and I not know
it--tied hand and foot! Oh, hang that dog!"

Tuesday morning the family awoke and met at the breakfast table. The
air was electric with unrest, and the food almost untouched. It was
Mrs. Clayton who broke the long silence that followed the morning's
greetings.

"I--I don't think I 'll do much to get ready for the Bixbys," she
began; "I 'm so sure that letter was from them."

"You mean that, Julia?" demanded her husband, brightening. "Are you
really positive?"

"Yes, really positive. They said all the time that they did n't think
they could come, and that without doubt I should get a letter saying
so."

"Then of course 'twas it," asserted Ethel, her face suddenly clearing.

"Of course," echoed her brother with a promptitude that hinted at more
than a willingness to be convinced that the letter was the Bixbys' and
none other.

It was about ten minutes past five that afternoon when the four Bixbys
came.

"There, we did get here!" they chorused gleefully.

"Yes, yes, I see, I see," murmured Mrs. Clayton, and signaled to Ethel
to hurry into the kitchen and give the alarm to the cook. "Then
you--y