With a smile—a smile of infinite love and tenderness, the mother leaned across and kissed the child that was hers.
"Of course you may, dearie," she assented, softly.
"Why don't you write kisses, too, mother, dear?" queried the little one. "It's lots easier…. Oh, mother, dear! I'll tell you what I wrote if you'll tell me what you wrote. Will you?"
Violet eyes gave loving assent.
"Oh, goody! We won't tell anyone else, will we?"
"No, dearie."
"Then," declared Muriel, "I'll read mine."
She picked up the wrinkled little sheet of sadly irregular chirography.
"Dear father daddy," she read. "It rained yesterday. Mother and I are well. We hope you are well and God gave our new cat four kittens." She looked up into the face of her mother. "God is awfully good to cats, isn't He, mother dear?" she asked. She went on, then, with the assurance of childhood: "Please come home. We miss you. I fell in the lake yesterday, but didn't take cold. I love you…. And the rest is just kisses."
She eyed her mother anxiously.