“If we had only recognized her sooner,” cried Billie. “We might have delivered the letter. We might have saved her from that great dragon of a father. We might have done dozens of things.”
They were deep in their thought when the stage drove up to the door with a great flourish and a man hastily dragged in several bags of mail.
Everybody gathered around the desk to wait for letters, and when the motor party had each received a package of mail, the first for many days, they hurried to their rooms to read the last news from home. Miss Campbell had half a dozen letters to engross her attention, and it was not until she had read the last word of every one that she opened a package covered with postmarks, showing it had been forwarded from place to place and had followed them over most of their route.
“My goodness gracious me,” she cried out in a loud astonished voice as she drew out the contents of the packet.
The girls dropped their letters and ran into her room.
“What is it?” they demanded breathlessly.
“My morocco pocket book with the fifty dollars, the one I lost——”
Miss Campbell could say no more. She was quite overcome and on the verge of tears. She handed a note to Billie to read aloud.
Dear Madam: (it ran)
I picked this pocketbook up in my field, though how it happened to be near a broken box kite I cannot tell you. I am sending it to the address on the visiting card and would be glad if you would notify me that you have received it.