holar, so
I opened it for her, like I do for many folks in Shipley. I was quite
taken aback when I couldn't make it out, and Martha said: 'Miss
Pearson, if you can't read it, I'm sure nobody else can!' But I told
her to leave it, in case anyone came into the shop who could."

"Where's the envelope?" asked Raymonde briefly.

"It's here. The writing is small and queer, isn't it? I had to put on
both my pairs of glasses, one over the other, before I could see
properly."

"You've made a very great mistake," said Raymonde. "The letter is
addressed to Mrs. Vernon, Poste Restante, Shipley."

"Well, I never! I thought it was Martha Verney. There are no Vernons
in Shipley."

"There's a Mrs. Vernon at the camp. No doubt it's intended for her."

"Well, I am sorry," replied Miss Pearson. "To think of me being
postmistress all these years, and making such a mistake! I'll put it
in an official envelope and readdress it. She'll get it to-morrow. Is
it important? I suppose you were able to understand it?" with a
suggestive glance at the letter, as if she hoped Raymonde would reveal
its contents.

Raymonde, however, did not answer her question.

"I think you had better seal it up at once," she parried, "and drop it
into the box, and then you'll feel you've finished with it."

"Oh, it will be all right! I hope I know my duties. If people
addressed their envelopes properly in a plain hand, there'd be no
mistakes," snapped Miss Pearson, highly offended, putting back the
bone of contention among her papers, and locking the desk. She knew
she had been caught tripping, and wished to preserve her official
dignity as far as possible. "I've opened Martha Verney's letters for
the last fifteen years, and had no complaints," she added.

"Ave," said Raymonde, as the two girls left the shop and turned up the
lane towards the camp, "that was a most important letter. I didn't
tell that old curiosity-box so, but it was written in German. I'd
Fraeulein as my governess for four years before I came to school, so I
can read German pretty easily, as you know. Well, I couldn't quite
understand everything, but the general drift seems to be that Mrs.
Vernon has a husband or a brother or a cousin named Carl, who is
interned not so far away from here, and is trying to escape. This
evening's the time fixed, and he's coming into the neighbourhood of
our camp, and she's to meet him, and give him clothes and money."

"Good gracious! What are we to do? G