“But didn’t you write?” queried Jean.
“Yes, indeed. So did Doctor Rhodes—not this Doctor—hum—well, this Doctor’s cousin. But our letters came back from the Dead Letter Office.”
“What does a dead letter look like?” demanded Mabel, with sudden curiosity.
“Just like any other kind,” returned Sallie, “except that they come in a special envelope.”
“Then,” said Jean, “for anything you know to the contrary, your father and this grandfather person may still be living in that apartment, in Chicago?”
“No,” returned Sallie. “They’re not. You see my tuition was paid for the full school year. It was getting along toward the summer vacation when Doctor Rhodes began to write to my father. Afterwards he went to that apartment in Chicago to ask about him; but they could tell him nothing more about him. Then Doctor Rhodes went to a number of hospitals and learned that a John Dickinson had been discharged, after a long, long illness; and that he was still very far from strong when he left the hospital to look for work.”
“The apartment people told Doctor Rhodes that poor old Grandpa had had a breakdown and had been placed in an asylum. Doctor Rhodes visited that place but the poor old man had forgotten all that he had ever known of either me or my father; and quite soon after that he died.”
“Then,” said Henrietta, “your father may still be living.”
“Yes,” returned Sallie. “But, if he were, wouldn’t he hunt for me until he found me? There’s this about it. I’m sure that he thought that he was putting me in a place where I’d be safer and better cared for than I could be with him.”
“Did he have very much money?” asked practical Henrietta.