"Yes."
"And you don't want any more packages?"
"I won't accept any more." She bobbed her head emphatically and set all the short curls to dancing.
"All right, Miss Peace. I'll see that you aren't bothered with any more packages."
Peace heaved a great sigh of relief, and turned energetically back to her basket weaving, which had been sadly neglected of late. The parcels actually did cease coming, and the two conspirators hugged themselves with delight that it had not been necessary to tell their secret so no one knew what sillies they were. By common consent they barred chain letters as a topic of conversation, and had almost forgotten the hateful packages when one morning Peace received a letter from Miss Truman, still a teacher in the Parker School, saying that she had just mailed a large box addressed to the little invalid, and hoped that Peace would enjoy its contents. The girl was wild with anticipation, but the parcel did not put in appearance that afternoon, nor the next day, nor the next.
"I am afraid it has gone astray," said Grandpa Campbell when the third morning passed without it coming.
"And won't I ever get it?" asked Peace disconsolately.
"Such things sometimes happen, though Parker is such a short distance from here that it seems almost impossible for it to have been lost. I will call at the Post Office and inquire. Perhaps for some reason it is stalled there."
That afternoon he appeared with the coveted parcel in his hand and a mystified look in his eyes.
"You got it?" shrieked Peace in ecstasy.