"A dog came to my house yesterday which I think is the one you advertise for. I am an old, crippled woman and it's hard for me to get out. Can't you come and see if it is your dog?
"Mary Sheila, 233 Myrtle Avenue."
The old woman wrote slowly in a shaking hand, and Owen waited patiently while she addressed an envelope. Then he placed the letter in the envelope, sealed it, and took his leave.
"And no sign of Cyrus?" inquired Harry cheerily as he entered the library, where Pauline sat disconsolate.
She did not even answer and she was still gazing dejectedly out of the window when Bemis brought in the mail. Two of the letters she laid aside, unread; the third, she opened: "A dog came to my house yesterday —" Her face lighted with hope and happiness; she read no further.
"Oh, isn't Owen—splendid," she breathed. "He knew just what to do." And with the letter in her hand she ran out to the veranda.
"Harry! Harry!" she called across the garden. There was no answer.
"Run up to Mr. Marvin's room and see if he is there, Margaret. Bemis, go out and see if he is at the garage."
"No, Miss Marvin," said Bemis. "He has gone into Westbury."
Pauline stood silent for a moment.