"Not a bit of it, Miss Brazier," insisted Phil stoutly. "Those dreadful babies! I had forgotten I had not seen them in the last half hour. Of course, they are in mischief. I will look for them right away."
Phil thrust her precious letter into her blouse. It was four o'clock in the afternoon and her letter from her chum had arrived in the morning post. These were busy days for Phyllis Alden. Early in May she had been called home from school by the illness of her mother. Since that time the care of her father's house and looking after the irrepressible twins had been Phyllis's work. Her mother was better now, on the sure road to convalescence, and Phil had begun to confess to herself that she was tired.
At one side of the house there was a rain-barrel. It was strictly forbidden territory, so Phil knew at once where to look for the twins. Hanging over the edge of the barrel were two fat little girls with tight black curls. They were bent double and were fishing for queer, bobbing things that floated on the surface of the rainwater. A firm hand caught Daisy by one leg. Dot, terrified by her big sister's sudden appearance, tumbled into the barrel with a gasp and a splash.
Phil felt half-vexed; still, she was obliged to laugh at the little ones, they looked so utterly roguish.
"Frog in the middle, can't get out," she teased the small girl in the center of the barrel. Then she fished Dot out and started with both little maids for the house to make them presentable before dinner. Phyllis knew that they must both be washed and dressed before she would have another chance to peep at her precious letter. Still, it comforted her to think how amused her Madge would be by her funny little four-year-old twin sisters and their mischievous ways.
It was just before dinner time when Phyllis firmly locked her bedroom door and took her precious letter from her blouse. She would read it now, or die in the effort. It began:
"Dear old Phil:
"I am not writing you from 'Forest House,' but from no other place than the famous old city of Boston, Massachusetts. I came here the other day because I believed I would find news of my father, but I was disappointed and am going back home in a few days.
"But I don't want to write about myself; I want to write about you, dear old Phil! I am so glad your mother is better. When she is quite well, can't you come to visit Nellie and me at 'Forest House'? We have missed you so. The Commencement exercises at Miss Tolliver's were no fun at all this year. When Miss Matilda got up and announced that Miss Phyllis Alden had been called home before the final spring examination because of the illness of her mother, and would, therefore, be passed on to the senior class of her preparatory school on account of her high standing in her classes, I cheered for all I was worth, and so did every one else.
"Ah, Phil, dear, it has been ages since last I saw you! I would give all my curls, and my hair really makes a long braid nowadays, if I could only see you. How I wish we could spend the rest of this summer on our beautiful houseboat! The poor little 'Merry Maid'! How lonely she must be without us. Tom Curtis and Jack Bolling wrote and asked me to let them tow us up the Rappahannock River this summer. They are going on a motor trip. But, alas and alack! we haven't any money to pay our expenses, so I fear there will be no houseboat party this summer. It's dreadfully sad, but, more than anything else, I regret not seeing you, Phil. With my dearest love. Write soon. Your devoted