“First, answer this, on your word of honor,”—and Polly’s wonderment grew as Mrs. Hale hitched her chair nearer, and her voice gained in seriousness. “Have you come across a small piece of yellow paper; it is folded and has the word ‘Copy’ as a watermark?” Seeing Polly’s uncomprehending stare, she added impatiently, “The kind reporters use in newspaper offices. Have you seen such a paper among my husband’s correspondence?”
“No, Mrs. Hale; not as you describe it,” Polly shook a puzzled head. “I may not have noticed the word ‘Copy,’ though. Was there anything else to identify it?”
Mrs. Hale thought a minute, then came to a decision. “It is no matter,” she said brusquely. “Forget I mentioned it; there is a more pressing matter”—from her silver mesh purse she drew out a much creased letter. “Read that,” she directed, and held it almost under Polly’s nose, “but not aloud, read it to yourself.”
Obediently Polly took the paper and, holding it at the proper focus, read:
Dear Aunt Agatha:
I started for San Francisco on the midnight train, so forgive this hasty scrawl in answer to your long letter. I will see the happy bride and groom on my return. Sorry Uncle Robert doesn’t like Richards. I found on inquiry that Richards——
Polly turned the letter over—the second sheet was missing. The young girl looked in bewilderment at Mrs. Hale.
“Have you the end of the letter?” she asked.
“No, that is all there is to it.”
“This”—Polly turned it over again. “Why, it is not even signed.”