scovered our dear Grace; and so, instead of a quiet,
rather humdrum summer, I am having the most enchanting, Arabian-nights
kind of time that ever was. And how do you think I feel?"

"Phil would say 'like thirty cents!'" said Jean, who was certainly a
little inclined to be pert.

"If I hear you say anything of the kind, young one, I'll swat--"

"Peggy, dearest!" murmured Margaret, softly.

"I'll speak to you very severely. I am ashamed of you, Kidderminster!"

"Look here, Peggy, I won't stand that!" said Jean. "You promised me,
when I first came, that you wouldn't call me that."

"Then don't behave like a kid!" retorted Peggy. "There, that's enough.
Yes, Margaret, it has all been perfectly delightful and fairy-like; and
then the Mysteries, too, and the hunting, and the Silver Closet, and
all. Oh, I am so glad we didn't find out everything that first summer. I
suppose Uncle John thought we were too young and silly then; not that
you were ever silly, you dear darling thing. But, Margaret, there is one
thing wanting to it all, and only you and I know what that is."

Margaret nodded. "Yes," she said, with a little sigh. "We want our
Princess, Peggy. Oh, Grace, if you only knew our Rita! How you and she
would love each other! Peggy, you said that just at the right moment,
for I have her last letter in my pocket, on purpose to read to you, and
I am sure the others would like to hear it, too. Would you, girls?"

There seemed no possible doubt on the subject. All the girls gathered
about Margaret, sitting on the floor, as they liked best to do. Margaret
herself took possession of her favorite low chair, and drawing the
letter from her pocket, began to read:

"BELOVED MARGUERITE:--I am of return only
yesterday from an expedition to the hills, and
I find your precious letter waiting for me. No
need to tell you that I pressed it to my heart,
covered it with kisses. Jack says your letters
are the sole thing of which he is jealous. I
grieve to hear that you must lose those little
ones whom you love so well, even for a short
time; but courage, _Margarita mia_; there are
other flowers besides roses, and summer is a
pleasant time. You will have Peggy with you,
dear Peggy! She sends me a photograph, which
shows her little changed in the face; still the
dimples, still the soft roundness of cheek and
chin. Be