"Oh, I haven't been home from school yet," said Oliver. "I suppose it is waiting for me there."
"Very likely. It looked to be in a lady's handwriting," added the postmaster, disposed to banter Oliver, who was a favorite with him.
"I can't think who can have written it, then," said our hero.
At first he thought it might be from an intimate boy friend of about his own age, but the postmaster's remark seemed to render that unlikely.
We all like to receive letters, however disinclined we may be to answer them. Oliver was no exception in this respect. His desire to see the letter was increased by his being quite unable to conjecture who could have written to him in a feminine handwriting. As soon, therefore, as he reached home, he enquired for Mr. Kenyon.
"He's in his room, Mr. Oliver," said the servant.
"Did he leave any letter for me, Maggie?"
"I didn't hear of any, Mr. Oliver."
"Then he's got it upstairs, I suppose."
Oliver went up the stairs and knocked at Mr. Kenyon's door. The latter had now recovered his wonted composure, and called out to him to enter.