"Arabella," she said, "you've heard from him?"
Miss Arabella hung her head like a schoolgirl caught in a naughty prank. "Yes," she whispered guiltily.
Elsie flung her arms about the little wet figure. "Oh, Arabella, dear, I'm so glad! I'm so glad! Now aren't you glad I wouldn't let you give me the dress? Is he coming home?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Next summer—in June."
"Oh! And is he well? Where does he live? And why didn't—oh, tell me all about it!"
The sympathetic joy was bringing the tears to Miss Arabella's eyes again. "Oh, Elsie, you're so awful good! I—would you—would it look kind o' foolish if I was to let you read his letter?"
"Not a bit, if you don't mind, you know. I'd really love to see it," she confessed honestly.
Miss Arabella threw back her shawl and carefully unrolled the blue silk. She took the letter from its folds and then hesitated. "Mebby," she began breathlessly, "I—perhaps I'd better read it to you, Elsie—because there's parts, you know, that might sound—foolish." She looked at the girl apologetically.