“This letter will not make you proud, Marie-Celeste, I know, only very grateful, and one day I believe you will understand better than it is possible for you now to understand to-day how even in this world the prophecy comes true sometimes that “a little child shall lead them.”
“You must write and tell me when you are going home, for somehow or other I must contrive to see you before you go, and what is more, I mean to seek out a chance for a good talk with your father and mother.
“'Yours faithfully,
“'Everett Belden.'”
“And you call that a spooney letter! Marie-Celeste, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” and Dorothy tried to look the reproach she felt the occasion called for.
“I only meant, Miss Dorothy, that it said some nice things about me.”
“Oh, is that all? Well, then, I'll forgive you; but that is not what people usually mean by spooney,” and Dorothy putting her arm about Marie-Celeste, they strolled up to the house together. “And you understand—don't you, dear?—that I did not mean to force your confidence in any way, only it did seem so mysterious?”
“Oh, yes, I understand perfectly; and you understand too, Miss Dorothy, how I would have told you about it long ago, if I thought I could and everything at last being mutually understood, there was happily no need for further explanations.”