Just as June was getting a bit lonesome the postboy came trotting in with a letter for Seki San and June ran in to take it to her.
"For me?" said Seki San, looking very comical with one loop of black hair hanging over her eye, "from Meester Carré? I sink it is a mistake, I do not know Meester Carré."
"Read it," demanded June impatiently.
"It say," went on Seki San slowly, "that Meester Carré is not able to write hisself but he desire the writer to ask me will I permit the little American boy to come to see him to-day. He is sick on the bed, and have the low spirit. He will keep safe care of the little boy and send him home what time I desire."
"Oh, let me go, Seki! Please let me go!" cried June.
"But who is Meester Carré?"
"He is the Frenchman," said June. "He is a soldier and has got the rheumatism. He has goldfish too, and a sword. Oh Seki, please let me go! Oh, do let me go!"
"Ah yes," said Seki, "one leg is shorter than the other leg and he walks with sticks, and he has long white whiskers on his lip, ah! yes, I know."
"Can I go?" begged June.
Seki San took a long while to think about it. She consulted her mother and the old man next door, and the doctor who lived at the corner, but by and by she came back and said he could go.