The children parted at their respective homes, and Margery went around by the orchard to look at the post-office, for throughout the troublous day she had not forgotten her anxiety as to Miss Isabel and the letter. She met Miss Isabel coming out of the gate as she went in. She was all in white, with a bunch of sweet peas at her belt; her face was glowing with color, her eyes shining. Margery did not stop to consider how strange it was to find her there now when she had ceased coming to the post-office; she only stood still in wondering amazement at the change in Miss Isabel since morning. Miss Isabel put her arms around her, and nearly kissed her breath away.
"You little dove of good tidings, my dear little Margery, how can I love you enough?" she cried.
"Have you answered?" asked Margery eagerly.
"I posted a note just now, and it was addressed to Mr. Oliver Twist," said Miss Isabel, and fairly ran away.
Margery went at once to take it out of the box. It was alarmingly thin, and her heart sank. Still, you could not always judge letters by the outside, and she ran with it all the way to the Evergreens.
She found Mr. Dean marching up and down the walk, "just as if he were expecting some one," thought Margery.
"A letter, Margery?" he cried, as soon as he saw her.
"Yes, but it's very thin, and yours was so thick," said Margery, not wishing him to be disappointed.
He snatched it from her and tore it open while she stood by trembling with eagerness to know whether he was to stay or go, and whether Miss Isabel had been so cruel as not to forgive him, and to make the children lose their kind new friend. It was a tiny note, but it took Mr. Dean ten minutes to read it, with bowed head, and only his shoulders visible to anxious Margery. Then he straightened himself, and turned towards her such a happy face that her heart leaped with joy.