of
taking a pan of nicely browned cookies from the oven as her visitor
appeared.

"Well, well, well," she exclaimed. "Just in time. Seems to me school
keeps some folks amazingly busy. I've not seen you for a week, have
I? But there, I'm glad enough you're turned out at last. Let me see
how you look. School agrees with you; I can see that. Sit down there
on the step and eat a cookie; it's warm inside the kitchen with the
fire going. Now tell me all about it. How do you like Miss Robbins?
I hear she's liable to be as popular as any teacher we've had. How
do the grans take to her?" Marian and Mrs. Hunt always spoke of Mr.
and Mrs. Otway as the grans.

"They like her," returned Marian between bites of cookie. "She is
perfectly fine, Mrs. Hunt, and she's got a little sister just my
age; her name's Martha, but they call her Patty, and she's going to
write to me, and, oh, Mrs. Hunt, I have a secret to tell you, but
you mustn't breathe it. Cross your heart you won't."

"Cross your heart," repeated Mrs. Hunt. "Where did you get that? I
never heard you say that before."

"All the girls say it."

"Of course they do, and you're getting to be one of the girls, I
see. Well, I'm glad of it. And what's the mighty secret?"

"You won't tell?"

"Not I." Mrs. Hunt emphasized her promise by bringing down her
cake-cutter firmly on the dough she had spread on the board before
her.

"Well, it's this: I'm learning to write on the typewriter, and I'm
going to write a letter to papa myself."

"Well, I vow to man! Isn't that a trick worth knowing? Won't he be
pleased?"

"Do you think he really will? I didn't know, for you see he has
written to me only once a year just as he does to grandpa and
grandma, and I have never been sure that he really cared very much
about me."

"Listen to the child," exclaimed Mrs. Hunt, shaking her head. "Who'd
have thought she gave it any thought one way or the other. Don't you
believe that he doesn't care. I knew Ralph Otway before you were
born, and I can tell you that when he gets to knowing that you've
thought enough about him to want to write to him he will write to
you often enough. He's got it into his head that you are as well off
not hearing from him oftener, and besides he feels that as a lone
widower he can't take as good care of you as his mother, a woman,
can do, and he's just steeled his heart to endure what he thinks is
best for you without thinking of what he would like for himself.
D