"Here it is," said Alice, and she took it from the bosom of her dress.

"Well," said Uncle Ike, "if I were in your place I'd open that letter, read it, and if it was likely to be of any value to Miss Putnam in finding her parents or relatives, I'd hunt her up and give it to her.

Mrs. Putnam owned up that she lied about it, and the whole thing, any way, may be a bluff. Perhaps it's only blank paper, after all."

"No," said Alice, "I could never open it or read it. I laid awake all night, thinking about my promise, and I finally made up my mind that I would go to see Lindy this morning, and let her read it; but now she has gone away, and we do not know where to find her. What shall I do with this dreadful thing?" she cried, as she held the letter up in her hand.

Quincy felt called upon to speak.

"Miss Pettengill," said he, "I think I could find Miss Putnam for you."

A slight flush arose to Alice's cheek which did not escape Quincy's notice. He continued, "When I went to Boston, last Sat.u.r.day, I happened to meet her on the train. She told me then something of her story, and said she was going to leave the house forever, as soon as Mrs. Putnam died. She also told me that if I ever learned anything about her parents I could reach her by advertising in the Personal Column of the New York 'Herald,' addressing 'Linda,' and signing it 'Eastborough.'"

"And will you do this at once for me?" cried Alice, eagerly. "I am so thankful; you have taken such a load from my mind, Mr. Sawyer. How fortunate it was that you met her as you did?

"I think Mr. Sawyer is about as lucky as they make 'em," remarked! Uncle Ike, with a laugh.

"Kind fortune owes me one or two favors yet before I shall be entirely satisfied," said Quincy. "Now, Miss Pettengill, will you allow me to make a suggestion that will free you from the further care of this doc.u.ment?"

"I don't care what is done with it," said Alice; "but no one but Lindy must read it."

"That is any idea exactly," a.s.sented Quincy. "I will go to Boston on the noon train and send that advertis.e.m.e.nt to the New York 'Herald,' With your permission, I will turn that doc.u.ment over to a legal friend of mine. He will put it in an envelope and seal it up. He will write on the outside, 'To be delivered only to Miss Putnam, on the written order of Miss Alice Pettengill,' and it will repose quietly in his big safe until Miss Putnam is found."

"That will do splendidly!" said Alice, with animation. "What magicians you lawyers are! You discover a way out of every difficulty."

"Wait until you get one of those lawyers working against you," remarked Uncle Ike, "then you'll change your mind. Well, I s'pose now this matter's settled, I can go upstairs and have my morning smoke."

"And I've got to go to the store," said Ezekiel to Uncle Ike, "and get some corn, or those chickens of your'n will swaller the hen coop." And both men left the room together.

"If you can give me a little of your time, Miss Pettengill," said Quincy, "I have some news for you that I think will please you very much."

"About my stories?" cried Alice.

"Yes," replied Quincy. "Just before I went to Boston last Sat.u.r.day I got a letter from Leopold, asking me to call on him as soon as convenient. I found him at home Sunday evening, and this is what he said. The New York house has accepted your series of eight detective stories, and will pay you twenty-five dollars for each of them. The house will send you a check from time to time, as they publish them. Leopold has accepted your long story for the magazine published by the house for which he is reader. He says Jameson will get your other story into one of the Sunday papers, and he will have his dramatic version ready for production next fall. He can't tell how much you will make out of these just yet; the magazine pays by the page and the newspaper by the column, and, of course, Jameson will give you part of his royalty, if he gets the play on."

"Why, Mr. Sawyer, you are showering wealth upon me like another Count of Monte Cristo."

"But you have not heard all," continued Quincy. "Leopold has placed your two songs with a music publishing house, and you will get a royalty on them in time. He says they don't pay any royalty on the first three hundred copies, and perhaps they won't sell; the public taste on sheet music is very fickle. Then, that composer, I can never remember his name, is at work on your poem, 'The Lord of the Sea.' He told Leopold he was going to make it his _opus vitae_, the work of his life, you know, and he is talking it up to the director of the Handel and Haydn Society."

"How true it is," said Alice, "that gladness quickly follows sadness! I was so unhappy this morning", but now the world never looked so bright to me. You have brushed away all my sorrows, Mr. Sawyer, and I am really very happy to hear the good news that you have told me."

"There is one sorrow that I have not yet relieved you of," continued Quincy.

"And that?" asked Alice, brushing back the wavy golden hair from her forehead, and looking up at him with her bright blue eyes, which bore no outward sign of the dark cloud that dimmed their vision,--"and that is?"--she repeated.

"That letter," taking the hand that held it in both of his own. "If I am to get that noon train I have no time to lose."

"Before you take it," said Alice, "you must promise me that it shall not be opened, and no eye but Lindy's must ever rest upon it."

"You have my word," he replied.

"Then take it," said she; and she released her hold upon it.

He took the letter with one hand, his other hand still retaining its grasp upon hers.

"I go," said Quincy, a.s.suming a bantering tone, "upon your quest, fair lady. If I return victorious, what shall be my reward?"

"Gallant knights," said Alice, as she withdrew her hand from his, "do not bargain for their reward until they have fulfilled their trust."

"I accept the reproof," said Quincy gravely.

"It was not so intended, Sir Knight," responded Alice brightly; "so I will make amends by answering your query. If you return successful, tell me what you would prize the most, and even if it be half my kingdom, it shall be yours."

"I am content, but modern locomotives do not wait even for gallant knights of old. So adieu."

He quitted the room, and Alice stood where he had left her until she heard the rumble of wheels as he drove off for the station; then she found her way to her chair before the fire, and her mind wove the outline of a romantic story, in which there was a gallant knight and a lovely maiden. But in her story the prize that the knight asked when he returned successful from his quest was the heart and hand of the lovely maiden.

Jim Cobb went over to Eastborough Centre, so as to drive the team back.

Before going to the station, Quincy stepped into the post office and found a letter addressed to him in a peculiar, but familiar, handwriting.

"From Aunt Ella," he said. "I will read it after I get on the train."

Quincy's Aunt Ella was Mrs. Robert Chessman, his mother's widowed sister.

As soon as the train started Quincy opened his letter. It was short and to the point.

"My DEAR QUINCY:--Maude gave me your address.

What are you doing in a miserable, little country town in the winter? They are bad enough in the summer, but in March!--'Bah! Come and see me at once, you naughty boy! AUNT ELLA."

"Dated yesterday," said Quincy; "how fortunate. I will go up to Mt.

Vernon Street to-morrow noon and take lunch with her."

When Quincy reached Boston he went directly to his father's office. The Hon. Mr. Sawyer was not present, but his partners, Mr. Franklin Crowninshield and Mr. Atherton Lawrence, were busily engaged. Quincy took a seat at the desk which, he had occupied before going to Eastborough, and wrote out his advertis.e.m.e.nt for the New York "Herald."

It read as follows: "Linda. Important paper discovered; communicate at once with Q.A.S., Eastborough."

He enclosed a check to cover a fortnight's insertion; then walked down State Street to the post office to mail his letter. When he returned, Mr. Lawrence informed him that his father was in his private office. His father greeted him pleasantly, but not effusively; in fact, any marked exhibition of approval or disapproval was foreign to the Sawyer character, while the Quincys were equally notable for their reticence and imperturbability.

"When shall we have the pleasure of your continued presence at home?"

asked the father.

"To-night," replied Quincy, with a smile, "I shall be with you at dinner, stay all night, and take breakfast with you."

"I trust your long visit will not oblige you to neglect other more important matters," said the father.

"Oh, no!" answered Quincy. "I have looked out for that."

"And when do you think your health will allow you to resume your position in the office?" inquired the Hon. Nathaniel.

"That is very uncertain," replied Quincy.