"Take a good look," the boy suggested.
Marian inspected the box thoroughly.
"No," she said with an air of finality, "it's not here."
"Your—er—the paint-box was a bit disarranged," he stammered.
"Disarranged?"
"Well, not in the best of order. Letter might have dropped out in the cabin. I dare say it's on the floor back there. Had you seen it lately?"
"Only this morning. I can't understand about the box. The wind must have blown it down, or something."
"I dare say." The boy smiled good-naturedly as he recalled the disordered room.
"I'll hop right back and look for it." He was away like a flash.
It was with a very dejected air that he returned. Marian could not tell whether it was genuine or feigned. Had he been in such haste to secure the letter that he had taken it at once from the box? Was all his later action mere stage-play?