ed at each other knowingly, and a little later on plotted
together in the shed. So a few days after they triumphantly appeared
with the lost Patty Wee which they restored to the delighted Marian.
They would never tell how they recovered the doll, but Pearl and
Evelina have memories of three big determined boys bearing down
upon them when they were playing under the big tree, boys who
demanded a doll taken by force, and having great respect for
manly strength the girls gave up Patty Wee without a word.

_CHAPTER XI_

_A Letter's Reply_

The lovely Indian summer was over, and Thanksgiving Day passed
happily. It was a great time for Marian, for Miss Dorothy was home
for several days and together they planned the book of photographs
to be sent to Marian's father. "I think it would better go in ample
time," said Miss Dorothy, "for at Christmas time there will be such
budgets going that we must be sure to get ours in before the rush
begins. I should give it two or three weeks anyhow, and even if it
does get there too soon, that will be better than too late."

"Don't you think it is time I was getting an answer to my letter?"
asked Marian.

"It is high time, but perhaps your father has been away, and has not
had his mail forwarded."

And indeed that was exactly the way of it as was proved the very
next day when the morning's mail brought Marian her long-looked-for
letter. She trembled with excitement when Mr. Robbins placed it in
her hands, and her eyes eagerly sought Miss Dorothy. "Won't you go
with me somewhere and read it to me?" she whispered.

Miss Dorothy hesitated. "Perhaps your father has written it for your
eyes alone."

"But suppose I can't read it."

"Well, then we'll go to my room and you can open it there. If you
can't read it I'll help you out. Will that do?"

"Oh, yes, thank you, dearest Miss Dorothy." Marian had learned from
Patty to use many endearing terms.

They went up-stairs to the pleasant front room with its pretty paper
and hangings of roses on a creamy ground, and by the window they sat
down while Marian carefully opened the envelope. As she unfolded the
sheet of paper it held, something fell out in her lap. "It is a
photograph of papa," she cried as she picked it up. "I never had one
of my very own, and see, Miss Dorothy, the letter is typewritten so
I can read it quite easily, but please sit by me while I see what he
says."

It was a long, loving letter in which the writer sp