"I'll reply this very morning," nobly resolved Grace. "Oh!" She gave a gleeful chuckle as she recognized a dear, familiar script. "It's from Emma, good old friend." The chuckle continued as she perused the flowery salutation:
"Most Gracious and Estimable Grace:
"Having made a triumphal return to the humble habitation of the Deans, of whom I am which, I now derive a most excruciating pleasure in taking up my sadly neglected pen to inform you that I am well and hope you are the same. By this time you are no doubt mourning me as hopelessly lost in the wilds of darkest Deanery. Such is not the case. Though I have wandered disconsolately about my childhood haunts and camped out despondently under the fruitful pear-tree in our back yard, which, so far as I can remember, has never boasted of a single solitary pear, I am by no means lost. In fact, I am really beginning to feel quite at home. But how I miss you! Living in a 'Graceless' world is a cross even to a person of my excellent and amiable qualities.
"There's a grain of comfort in store, thank goodness. Before many weeks the Sempers will congregate together somewhere for a glorious reunion. Elfreda has written me that you are soon to be in New York City. I suppose the momentous question of 'Where shall we reunite?' will be decided then."
Grace read on through page after page of the long letter, written in Emma's most humorous vein. Finishing it at last, she gathered the closely written sheets together with a happy little sigh. Good-natured, fun-loving Emma Dean occupied a foremost place in her affections. Grace wondered sometimes if the bond between them did not stretch as tightly even as that between herself and Anne. Emma had been and always would be the perfect comrade.
"You're next, Mabel," she murmured as she scanned the third envelope on the scarcely depleted pile. "I suppose you are going to tell me that——"
The loud purr of an automobile stopping before the house left Mabel's message still unread. Depositing her wealth of correspondence on the seat of the swing, Grace tripped down the steps and on down the walk.
"Good morning, dear Fairy Godmother," she greeted hospitably. "Good morning, Tom. Something nice is going to happen. I can read it in your faces."
"That depends on whatever your conception of 'nice' may be," returned Tom mysteriously. Slipping from the driver's seat, he caught her outstretched hand in both his own, his gray eyes alive with the light of a joyful anticipation which Grace had been quick to catch.
"Good morning, my dear," called Mrs. Gray from the car. "Run in the house and get your hat. We are bound on a most mysterious mission. You are the third person needed to carry it out."