Rosemary lifted the lid of the Canton ginger jar. It was apparently empty but feeling around in it, her fingers found some scraps of paper.
"That's the letter," said the old lady placidly. "I put it down on a pile of old papers this morning when it first came and then when I went to start a fire this noon, I carelessly tore the papers across and with them the letter. Fortunately I discovered what I had done in time to save the scraps, but I can't put them together again. I thought you could."
Rosemary emptied out the pieces of paper on the table and, instructed by Miss Clinton, found the paste and a large sheet of paper on which to paste the bits. Shirley and Sarah sat down on the floor and began playing with the toys in the cabinet.
"Adelaide has real good sense," remarked Miss Clinton as Rosemary studied the pieces attentively, "she never writes on more than one side of the paper. I'd be in a pretty fix, if she had."
Rosemary privately thought that she was in a fix as it was, for the scrawled writing made no sense whatever, as far as she could see. She arranged it tentatively, scattered the pieces again and laboriously pieced them together in another combination.
"Did it begin, 'Dear Aunt'?" she asked desperately.
"Mercy no." Miss Clinton looked up brightly from her crocheting. "Adelaide calls me 'Clintie' and always has. Usually she begins, 'Clintie dear.'"
Rosemary worked feverishly, anxious to please the old lady and even more anxious to be on her way. She wanted to know what the circus agent had done about the farm and she was curious to know if Louisa was displeased that their straits had become known to a stranger.
"There!" she said, after almost an hour's work. "I think I have it all right—it makes sense, anyway. But there's a corner missing."
"I don't mind a corner, as long as you have the gist of it," returned Miss Clinton gratefully. "I didn't want to write to Adelaide that I'd destroyed her letter before I'd even read it. I'm sure I don't know how to thank you, Rosemary!"