KATE came within a day or two to enjoy the society of Lieutenant Jermyn so much that she did not hesitate to say so plainly to Fenie. True, she said it half as a test, to be applied to Fenie's own feelings, but as the girl listened without a sign of jealousy, and even looked pleased, Kate was so well satisfied with the situation that she wanted to talk farther on the subject, and with some one more competent to estimate a mature man and gentleman at his true value.

She therefore began to discuss Jermyn with Trif, who was so happy over the change in Fenie's manner that she was quite willing to rejoice and sympathize with any one about anything. Like any other good woman who had been compelled to disappoint a good man, she wished she might see the man made happy by some other good woman, so she wondered whether a match between Jermyn and Kate might not be possible. Her own married life was so happy that she profoundly pitied any other woman who was unmarried yet old enough to know her own mind.

How Trif did long for Phil! If she could see him, only for an hour, to consult with him about this new and delightful idea that had taken possession of her.

Undoubtedly he would agree with her, for he always came to her way of thinking, or she to his, she was not sure which. She had half a mind to telegraph him to run down to the fort for a day or two; she was sure his horrid old firm would not miss him greatly during so short an absence. Then she thought it would be better to write him and ask his advice.

Half wondering which course would be the better, she began a letter, but was interrupted again and again, so at night she was but little further advanced than in the morning. Besides, a series of showers had descended upon Old Point, and Trixy was obliged to remain indoors, and a little girl away from home on a showery day is as restless as a guilty conscience, so Trif finally called herself a heartless mother, and tried to devote herself entirely to her child. Trixy asked only that mamma would write a good long letter for her to papa, and Trif began it, and got well under way, when a waiter came to the room with a message from Fenie, begging Trif to come down at once to see some old friends who had unexpectedly arrived, so poor little Trixy was hurried to bed, where she thought dismally of life's disappointments until she fell asleep.

A little matter like a night's sleep could not make Trixy forget anything upon which she had set her heart. Early the next morning the child begged her mamma to finish that letter to papa, and she reverted to the subject several times during the day. Finally she searched her mother's portfolio for the unfinished letter, and endeavored to complete it herself, in imitation of print, which was the only sort of writing she knew well. She had not learned to use a pen, and the only pencil she could find had a very bad point, so she put both letter and pencil into her pocket, and resolved to bide her time until she could find her mother disengaged.

Once upon the beach, and at her favorite occupation of well-digging, she forgot the letter for two or three hours, but the subject was brought back to her mind by overhearing one of the male guests tell another that he had just received a letter from his little daughter, and that a man never knew how dear his children were until he was separated from them for a few days.

Suddenly the inspector of sand-wells, the cheery old Admiral, hove in view, and Trixy hurried to him and asked:

"You can sharpen lead-pencils, can't you?"

"I could when I was at the Naval Academy," was the modest reply. In a moment Trixy's hand and eyes and head and tongue were working in unison, after the manner of beginners at letter-writing, while the Admiral, standing a little apart, pretended to write something in a memorandum book, but really made a sketch, to be presented to Trif, of the little correspondent as she knelt upon the piazza floor and used a chair as a desk.

"Writin's dreadful hard work," said Trixy, after several moments of effort. "I do wish that mamma—oh, say, Admiral, you can write, can't you? Of course you can—I see you doin' it now. Won't you please finish this letter for me if I tell you what to say? That's the way mamma writes 'em for me—she begun this one. If you do it you needn't pay me five cents the next time my well's the best of the lot, and I guess it's goin' to be the best to-day. Is it a bargain?"

"But, Trixy," replied the Admiral, "I question the propriety of hearing other peoples' family affairs."

"Oh, I don't write no family affairs. This is only a letter to papa."

"Your logic, my dear, is as faultless as your grammar. Still, I'll be your clerk for a few moments."

"All right; I'm very much obliged. First, though, you'd better begin and read what's already wrote, 'cause it's so long since mamma began this letter for me that I can't remember what I told her to say."

"H'm—let me see," said the Admiral, adjusting his glasses. "'Dear Old Papa'——"

"Go on."

The Admiral, who, like most men of affairs, had acquired a way of reading a page at a glance, suddenly looked at Trixy in astonishment. Then he re-read the letter, and said, with a twinkle of his eyes:

"Aren't you rather young to take so much interest in match-making?"

"What's match-makin'?" asked the child, with wondering eyes.

"Oh, you seem to understand the subject very well. The idea of a child planning a marriage between a man and a woman—quite suited to each other though they certainly are—who never met until this week!"

"Who do you mean? Aunt Fee and Harry? Why, they've——"

"No, no—I don't mean them. This is another couple—a lady and an army officer."

"Oh, you mean Mr. Jermyn and Miss Trewman? Why, I don' remember tellin' mamma to write anythin' about them. Come to think of it, though, I said to her, over at guard mount the other day, that 'twould be nice if they got married; but she said 'Sh—h—,' and that means the same thing as don't when mamma says it."

"Yes—to be sure; it used to be so in our family, when I was a boy. But how did this subject get into the letter, if you didn't tell your mother to write it?"

"I'm sure I don't know, unless mamma put it in just for fun. Sometimes she helps me with things to say, when I want to write a real long letter."

"H'm!" The Admiral looked very alert as he recalled customs of his own family when he was a young father. "Trixy, would you mind telling me your father's name—his first name?"

"It's Philip."

"Ah, yes. And is that what your mother usually calls him?"

"Goodness, no! When she says 'Philip,' papa pretends to be awfully scared. Sometimes she calls him Phil, but usually she says 'papa.'"

"Just as I supposed." The Admiral was silent and grave so long that the child timidly asked:

"You don't think it's improper for her to do it, do you?"

"Improper? No, indeed! I'd give half my pay—yes, all of it—to hear my wife call me 'papa' again." Tears came into the veteran's eyes, and Trixy, following home custom regarding such matters, kissed them away, which operation made the Admiral's face as cheery as a sunburst. Nevertheless, the old man did some more thinking, and finally he said:

"I'm such a stupid old fellow that I can't easily finish what some other person has begun. Suppose we destroy this letter, and I begin a new one for you. I'll write one as long as you like, if you'll come into the office, where I can find a desk."

"Oh, good!"

"But about this one which your mother began—suppose we have a secret about it?"

Trixy hesitated; she dearly loved a secret, but of late her secrets had not been as well kept as she would like. Still, she promised, and the new letter was soon under way, and at the top was written, "Dictated to Rear Admiral Allison, retired, by Her Serene Highness the Infanta Trixy." The Admiral put the original and uncompleted letter into his pocket, intending to burn it and destroy the ashes, although what might happen, should there be any enquiries for it, he was sure he did not know; perhaps it might be well for him to hurry off to Washington, or somewhere.

When the new letter was completed Trixy and the Admiral took it to the post-office, and the old man, in endeavoring to impress upon Trixy the advisability of keeping the matter a secret while both of them remained at Old Point, exerted his diplomatic faculties to an extent unparalleled during his entire term of service as an officer. He loathed the idea of teaching duplicity to a child, but in the circumstances it seemed entirely justifiable.

As the day waned, most of the ladies retired to dress for dinner, and Trif, whose conscience had been reproaching her all day for neglect of her husband, to whom she knew her letters were unspeakably welcome, and to whom she dearly loved to write when she chanced to be away from him, determined to finish the letter begun the day before.

"Fenie," she soon said through the door between the rooms, "have you been to my portfolio?"

"No, dear. I've done no writing."

"How strange. I'd begun a letter to Phil, and now I can't find it."

Fenie said something playful about mislaid affection, but Trif did not laugh, for she remembered what she had written. Still, why should she worry? No one but the chambermaid could have been in the room, and she doubted whether colored chambermaids at the South could read. The letter would turn up in the course of time; meanwhile she would write a hasty note to Phil and enclose Trixy's, just as it was, in time for the mail by the evening boat, which would close in a few minutes, and Trixy, who never was specially dressed for dinner, could take the letter down to the office.

The Admiral strolled over to the fort and the club, where he met a semi-public man who was talking to the Commandant about a promising gold "placer" on the Pacific coast which had proved so alluring that he had lost a lot of money in trying to develop it. The Commandant had known of this same placer, for he had been stationed near it at one time; the Admiral also had seen it, for he had been taken to it one day by some men who had hoped to extract some of his savings from him. Lack of water was the trouble, and the Admiral, who had looked carefully over the ground, had devised a plan whereby water might be brought by a tortuous route from a stream several miles distant. When he said this to the semi-public man that person replied:

"Give me your plan, and if it is practicable you shall have a large block of stock, for nothing, in the company I'll organize to work it."

The Admiral quickly took a letter from his pocket and drew on the back of it a plan of the country as he remembered it. Then he consulted Jermyn, who had dropped into the club.

"Very good," said Jermyn, looking at the sketch, "although it might be improved a little, I think. I've done some shooting on that very ground, so I remember it pretty well."

"How fortunate," said the Admiral. "Mr. Blogsham, my friend Jermyn is a good engineer, so he may be of more service than I."

"Good!" said Blogsham. "The better the plan, the more it will be worth to us. There's a block of stock for you too, Mr. Jermyn, if you can make the water within reach."

Jermyn opened the sheet of paper and made another sketch; then he turned the paper over, supposing it might contain some memoranda on the subject, but he saw something that so upset his mind that in the next ten minutes he talked so vaguely about the ground and the water that his own chance of getting any stock in the proposed mine seemed to him very small.