"HERE'S a letter for you, Harry," said Kate Trewman one morning as her brother came to the breakfast table, "and from the penmanship of the address I should imagine it to be from a washerwoman or a newsboy."

Harry looked solemnly at the address—he had looked solemnly at everything for several days, but when he saw the signature he started, a motion which did not escape the observant eye of his sister, who exclaimed:

"Do tell me what has happened! You look like an actor in a play with a great letter-scene in it."

Harry did not reply, for he was trying to read the letter, the writer of which could read, he knew, but seemed not to have learned to write, or even to spell, for the letter ran as follows:

"Dere Mister Trumen: I wunt to git yure pikcher an if yu giv it tu me yu needunt giv me that dolle tho I want the dolle lots an them yure sistur wus goin to gimme. Plese send me the pikcher rite away cause I'm goin a travelen. Youres trule

Trixy Highwood."

"Do tell me what it is!" exclaimed Kate.

"'Tis a dead secret—or a mystery," Harry replied, with an absent-minded manner and a far-away look. Then he re-read the letter and laughed, at which Kate said:

"Thank goodness! Evidently it isn't a tragedy!"

"No, although there may be some elements of a drama in it."

"Do let me see the letter."

"Not now, dear girl. It is on a matter which I think should be regarded as strictly confidential."

Nevertheless Kate saw the letter before the day was done, and she did a lot of thinking about it. Then she drew her brother into the parlor and said abruptly:

"I've thought it all out. Fenie Wardlow hasn't a picture of you, has she?"

"Kate!" exclaimed Harry severely. "Do you imagine me to be conceited enough to present my portrait to young women in general?"

"Tut, tut! You know very well that Fenie Wardlow isn't classed in your mind among young women in general. She's the one and particular woman of all the world, to you. Answer my question; has she your picture?"

"No. Now are you satisfied?"

"Not entirely. Still, I'm sure she wants it. That child never wrote you of her own accord, to ask for your picture."

"Kate! Will you kindly remember that Miss Wardlow is a lady? I'm surprised that you should make such an insinuation."

"I've insinuated nothing, but there is something behind Trixy's letter. She's a very longheaded child, and the family adores her, and she is always with Trif and Fenie, and hears everything they say, so——"

"Do you really think that Miss Wardlow herself wanted a picture of me?" interrupted Harry.

"That is exactly what I do think. Oh, Harry! I didn't suppose a man could blush so splendidly! There, there—don't be ashamed of it; 'tis wonderfully becoming, and——"

Kate was an affectionate sister, so she stopped long enough to throw her arms about her brother and kiss him soundly. Then she continued:

"Send a picture to the child at once—and do send that doll also. I'd send with it the lot that I promised, if I wasn't afraid that the family would ask questions, and I would be dreadfully mortified if they were to learn that I questioned Trixy closely on a certain subject several days ago. I wish I knew what the child means by saying that she's going travelling. I wonder if—oh, well, I'll make some calls elsewhere, and find out all about it."

Meanwhile Trif, Trixy and Fenie were postponing their further journeying southward. Old Point Comfort is a hard place to leave; one finds old friends, learns that new ones are coming; so the days slip by delightfully. The air seemed to be doing wonders for both Fenie and Trixy, and Trif was enjoying herself as a clever young woman always can where good company abounds, and she can give her entire time to it. Besides, Lieutenant Jermyn assured her that the season was so far advanced that she would find Florida uncomfortably hot.

Jermyn had also put Trif entirely at ease by not showing a bit of sentimentality over the woman he had loved and lost. He was so entirely himself in her presence that she imagined him happily married, although she did not like to question him on the subject. He was quite attentive to Fenie, too, and made haste to introduce several brother officers, who made themselves interesting, so Fenie seldom was without the attendance of some man in uniform. Her admirers were not all young, either, for admiration of womanhood appears to be one of the original elements of the military nature, so several elderly officers frequently sought the society of Fenie and her sister, and as Fenie was the younger, and unmarried, she innocently took all the admiration to herself. Finally, when a retired admiral, himself as young at heart and engaging in conversation as any of his juniors, paid special attention to Fenie, that young woman became so exuberant of cheerfulness that she read herself a severe lecture, almost at midnight, when there was no one else for her to talk to.

How dreadfully she was neglecting Trixy, too! She had promised to watch the child carefully, yet Trixy ran at will upon the beach, and buried herself in sand, and several times a day she ventured close enough to the water to wet her feet, and Fenie was always going to keep her from doing so again, but Trif was the only one who did it. Fenie told herself that she was becoming a dreadfully selfish girl, but really she never seemed to find time to do anything that ought to be done.

Trixy did such dreadful things, too. She had learned the names of all the colored men who brought sail-boats to the hotel pier when the water was smooth and the breeze gentle. She seemed fascinated by the picturesque raggedness of the few colored people who lounged in the single street of the little village. She had no hesitation about introducing herself to any one who spoke to Trif or Fenie, she talked almost as much as if she were at home; and what mightn't she say if the impulse came to her? Trif was begged to caution the child, that there was nothing to tell; then to make assurance doubly sure, Fenie herself cautioned her.

"I don't tell nobody nothin', Aunt Fee," protested Trixy. "Really and truly, I don't. I only told Lieutenant Jermyn and a lot of them that you was awful sick, and that was why we came down here."

"I sick? You dreadful child! Don't you know that it was on account of your own bad health that we came?"

"Oh, Aunt Fee! You're awful mistaken—indeed you are. You must have got us mixed up some way, 'cause papa and mamma said 'twas you that was sick. I just came along to take care of you, and I've been doin' it with all my might."

"Indeed! And what was the matter with me, I wonder?"

"Why—y—y!" exclaimed the child, opening her eyes very wide. "Do you forget things as easy as that? Mamma said you'd go crazy if you didn't stop thinkin' about Harry Trewman, and papa said the best medicine for you would be a trip off to somewhere—the best, except one thing."

"Except what thing?"

"Oh, nothin'."

"Don't say that. Tell me the truth at once."

"I can't, else I'll spoil a s'prise."

"What surprise?"

"I mustn't tell, else there won't be no s'prise."

"Oh, Trixy! Surprises are such stupid things! People usually find out all about them before they occur."

"Nobody'll find out this one, I guess, unless Harry—say, Aunt Fee, whereabouts is the post-office here?"

"All letters come to the hotel. What were you going to say about Harry? Harry who?"

"Why, don't you know? Then I can't tell, 'cause that's part of the s'prise."

"Trixy, tell me this instant!"

Trixy looked troubled for a moment; then she dashed out of the room, and Fenie, who had been dressing while she talked, could not follow. Trixy found her mother, who handed her a letter of such size that the retired Admiral, who was chatting with Trif, remarked:

"How large a letter for so small a lady to receive. I hope, Miss Trixy, that you haven't a love affair on your mind?"

"No, indeed, sir. Other folk's love affairs are enough for me to attend to." Then the child slipped away, while Trif continued to wonder from whom had come the letter which Phil had forwarded, and which appeared to contain a large photograph.

Trixy retired to the hotel, opened her letter, and found, as she had expected, a picture of Harry Trewman. There was some writing on the back of the card, and Trixy wished she knew what it was, but all chirography was as undecipherable to her as Hebrew; her own letters were written in imitation of print. She roamed about the corridors in search of some acquaintance whose education was broader than her own, and finally she chanced upon Lieutenant Jermyn, who had been visiting an invalid friend.

"Say, Mr. Jermyn, you can read writin', can't you?"

"Sometimes, Trixy, sometimes."

"Then won't you tell me what's on the back of this picture?"

Jermyn read aloud: "My dear little girl, I am very fond of you, and I shall be glad to have you carry my picture on your journey with you, so that I may be brought to your mind once in awhile. Yours sincerely, Harry Trewman."

"Oh, I'm so glad he sent it!" exclaimed Trixy. Jermyn smiled and replied:

"Upon my word, Miss Trixy, you're beginning quite early to be interested in young men."

"You're the second person who's made that mistake," Trixy replied. "The picture isn't for me; it's for Aunt Fee."

"Indeed!" Jermyn looked grave a moment or two before he continued, "Wouldn't it be better, then, for you not to show it to people in general?"

"Oh, I'm not going to. I only wanted to know what the writin' was about."

"Suppose you put it into the envelope," suggested Jermyn, "and take it to your aunt's room."

"Just what I was goin' to do," said Trixy. "Isn't it funny that both of us thought of the same thing?"

Jermyn admitted that it was, although he was oppressively silent as he walked through the hall—he who had always told Trixy some funny story when he met her.

Fenie had learned to like Jermyn greatly during their short acquaintance, but on the evening that followed the picture incident he surpassed himself in deference, humor and brilliancy. Fenie did not wonder that Trif had always remembered him pleasantly. She did wish he was not quite so old; a man of thirty-five seems dreadfully ancient to a girl of twenty. Still, soldiers were splendid anyway. Of course, he did not care particularly for her, for he had never seen her until that week, but there was something in his voice and manner on this particular evening that affected her strangely. Could it be that he was falling in love with her? If so, she—she really ought to feel sorry.

But was she? She could scarcely believe so; she would examine her mind seriously when the evening ended; perhaps she would speak to Trif about it. There was nothing between her and Harry Trewman—she could honestly say that, and perhaps—perhaps she had acted very foolishly about that young man. Harry was a fine fellow, as young men go, but how plain he appeared, to her mind's eye, beside the handsome soldier who scarcely left her side that evening!

By the time the evening ended the young woman had a head full of pleasing fancies marred only by a weak compunction of conscience. She sat in Trif's room a few minutes, chatting with her sister about people whom they had met during the day, and admiring Trixy, who was always a charming picture when asleep. Then she passed into her own room; in a moment Trif heard a sharp exclamation, and Fenie stood in the doorway between the rooms, gasping:

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Of what? Oh, my sister, you're looking like a ghost!"

"I feel as if I had seen one. Why did you do it? What have I done to——"

"Tryphena Wardlow, what are you talking about?" asked Trif, approaching the girl. "Do say something intelligible, if you can, and stop acting."

For answer, Fenie took her sister's hand and led the way to the mirror, between the glass and frame of which was a photograph of Harry Trewman.

"In the name of all that's mysterious," exclaimed Trif, "where did it come from?"

"Where, indeed! Didn't you place it there, to—to——"

"I give you my word that I never saw it, or knew of its existence, until this instant."

"Oh, this is dreadful," exclaimed Fenie, sinking into a chair. "There's some mystery about it. Who can be here who knows anything about—about what had happened? Who has been able to get into our room without our knowledge? I shan't dare to fall asleep. I shan't——"

"Do stop being dramatic, Fee, and try to be sensible. The picture didn't sneak in through the keyhole, nor did invisible hands bring it, although I confess that for the moment I'm mystified. Oh, I have it! Mark my words, Trixy knows something about that picture."

In an instant Fenie was in the adjoining room and shaking Trixy. The child was sleeping as soundly as ocean air and the lullaby of gentle surf can make children sleep, but Fenie persevered.

"Picture?—in your lookin' glass?" the child drawled. "Oh, yes; I put it there. That was the s'prise—that I wouldn't—tell you all about. Did it s'prise you—lots?"

"Yes—yes. But how did you get it?"

Trixy was falling asleep again, and her mother insisted that further explanation should be deferred until morning. As Fenie took the picture from the mirror she saw the inscription and read it. Then Bruce Jermyn went out of her mind and a joyous feeling took his place.