THE Admiral and the Lieutenant met face to face in the Army and Navy Club at Washington, and each looked as if he were a rogue about to tumble into the clutches of the law. After a moment of mute inquiry of each other's faces the Admiral asked:

"Jermyn, how on earth did you reach here? I thought I left you at Fort Monroe?"

"And I," said Jermyn, "supposed I had left you at Old Point, when I suddenly ran up here on a matter of personal business."

"Ah! Trying to be transferred to some other branch of the service, where there's more chance of promotion? Well, I can't blame you. In time of peace a man must wait a long while for his just deserts, and in time of war he may be killed before they can reach him. 'Tis a queer world."

"It certainly is, or some things in it are very queer."

"Excuse a plain question, please. That letter upon which you and I sketched a day or two ago at the club—was it——"

"Bless my soul, Jermyn, is that letter on your mind too? My dear boy, my sole purpose in hurrying off to Washington last night was to recover that letter. I can't imagine where it is unless our enterprising friend Blogsham took it with him."

"You knew its contents?"

"Yes—unfortunately for my peace of mind since I was asked to read it. But you——"

"I," said Jermyn, "glanced at it, supposing it to be memoranda about the property you were discussing; I had no idea that it could be a private letter. You will understand why I would like to know something further about it, principally to save one woman, possibly two women, from great mortification should the letter itself fall into the wrong hands."

"Possibly two women?" repeated the Admiral. "Do you mean to say that you don't know who the writer was?"

"I've not the slightest idea."

The Admiral knocked the ashes from his cigar, and took several puffs, regarding Jermyn quizzically in the meantime, before he replied:

"Dear boy, you've a powerful friend at court, if your interests are what they might be. The writer of the letter, who I assure you is not a member of my own family, was writing to some one to whom she has an entire right to open her mind freely. If that little scamp Trixy hadn't—"

"Aha! Mrs. Highwood was the writer, eh?"

Jermyn seemed greatly relieved by his discovery, but the Admiral said indignantly:

"Jermyn, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for entrapping an old friend in that way— you really ought. Beside, you ought to be grateful that so good a woman is taking so great interest in you. As to the lady whom she named, any man alive ought to be glad of an opportunity to make love to her, and marry her, but if you don't think so——"

"I fully agree with you, Admiral, but if the lady herself chances to hear of it—if our mining acquaintance chances to be one of the fellows who sees a joke in everything, and doesn't care to whom he tells it, and if he has the letter, and shows it to mutual acquaintances—well, you know how a story gains by being passed from man to man."

"Quite true, quite true," assented the Admiral with a groan. "We must look the fellow up, and at once. Bless me! To think that all this trouble came about through a child asking me to finish a letter to her father. If I could lay my hands upon that youngster at this moment I'd—I'd——"

"You'd probably romp with her as pleasantly as if nothing had occurred."

"Yes, probably."

Trixy would have been glad of some one to romp with at that moment, for she was very unhappy. Her mother seemed utterly wretched; at other times when Trif was troubled in mind, Trixy had been quick to note it and to be very affectionate, and had been so successful as to be called her mamma's greatest comfort. Fenie, too, was miserable, for Trif had told her what was in the missing letter, and Fenie was sure that if the letter itself fell into improper hands, and Kate should hear about it, and learn who was the writer, there would be another danger of coolness between the two families, for Kate was too proud to endure any interference with her own affairs. Fenie had her own reasons for objecting to any such trouble, for she was very happy with Harry; there had been no talk of love, but none was necessary. Young people have ways of understanding each other quite independently of words; do not even deaf mutes fall in love?

Now, however, even Fenie's pleasant chats with Harry might have to be suspended, for Trif was in such abject fear and mortification that she would scarcely leave her room, and Fenie did not like to appear entirely unattended and unwatched by her sister. No one would talk if she were seen with Kate and Harry together, but Fenie herself, like Trif, had imagined all sorts of possible and impossible ways by which that dreadful letter, or some garbled report of it, might reach Kate.

So, the sisters sat in their room, and feared, and felt like a couple of criminals to whom the worst might happen. They exchanged forebodings, all of which were overheard by Trixy, who received a reproachful look with each, and did quite a lot of silent weeping on her own account, and neither her mother nor her aunt dried her eyes with kisses, as they usually did at home after she had done something wrong, and repented.

But the kind power that looks after children and fools came finally to Trixy's relief, for Trif suddenly said:

"Surely the mail is distributed by this time, and I can have at least the consolation of a letter from dear Phil. Trixy, go down to the office and ask for letters for our room."

Trixy flew away like a bird from an opened cage, and no sooner did she reach the lower floor than she dashed through one of the exits to the beach. How delicious the sunlight was, after part of a morning in a half-darkened room!—the child felt as if she were bathing in it. And the beach, too, with its long edging of smooth, hard sand,—she must have just one run on it, from pier to pier, and back again.

It was a merry run, but it put her out of breath, so she threw herself down upon the sand to rest for a moment, and the warm-hearted sand welcomed her so pleasantly that she waited a moment longer, and then another, and soon she began to doze, for contemplation of other people's troubles had wearied her early in the day.

Suddenly she was roused by the touch of a parasol-tip. Looking up, she saw Kate Trewman, who said:

"Trixy, is your family ill, or merely sleepy? They usually are down early to breakfast."

"Oh, they're bothered. My what a fuss! Say, you won't get angry at 'em, will you?"

"Not I! Why should I? I shall be very sorry, though, if they remain in their rooms all morning, for I miss them greatly. I don't find any of my acquaintances this morning."

"Don't you? Well, I know where one of 'em is. He's gone to Washin'ton, Lieutenant Jermyn has."

Kate said nothing in reply, but Trixy exclaimed, "Goodness gracious! How bad you do feel about it! So do I. But he's comin' back—comin' to-morrow, 'cause he said he'd be gone only a couple of days. Oh, how quick you do get glad again!"

Kate abruptly turned her face aside, hid it in her parasol, and thanked herself that she had no little sister or niece, to be always observing her—and so exasperatingly correctly, too! At that moment her brother joined her, and asked Trixy if she would give his card, on which he had pencilled a line or two, to her Aunt Fee. This reminded Trixy that she had been sent for the mail, so she danced off in the direction of the office, while Harry and Kate walked to and fro, and talked of everything but what was uppermost in their minds.

Trixy found additional causes of detention. The mail was late, and a throng of people were at the desk awaiting the distribution, so Trixy went to the front door to look at the flowers which colored people brought every morning to sell to the guests. Then she strolled toward the fort, to look at an old colored beggar, whose raggedness was so picturesque that it fascinated her. As she stood staring at him, a servant from the fort accosted her with,

"Little girl, you know Adm'ral All'son, don't you?—the old gen'leman that bosses all you young ones when you digs sand-wells?"

"Of course I do; he's one of my best friends."

"Well, I've got lots to do this mornin', an' I don't see how I'm goin' to git through. Don't you want to give this letter to him for me?"

"Certainly."

"You won't forgit it, will you?"

"Oh, no; I'm not of the forgettin' kind." And Trixy took the letter, forgetting for the moment that the Admiral had gone to Washington. Then she hurried back to the hotel, got the mail, and went into her mother's room, saying:

"Let me open the letters for you, won't you, like papa does?"

"Yes, but do it quickly," said Trif, first selecting one from her husband, which she quickly read and re-read. Then she took the others, after Trixy had cut the ends of the envelopes, and glanced over them, commenting as she read:

"H'm—nothing unusual. Mrs. Poynce's cards, the Misses Brimling's tea, on Thursday next—I shall be sorry to miss it; invitation to a spring opening, and—oh!"

Trif fell back in her chair, as if in a faint. Fenie hurried to her, exclaiming:

"Trif, dear! What is the matter? Speak to me, quick!"

"That letter! That awful letter that I began for Trixy! Here it is!"

"Dear me! Where could it have come from?"

"I can't imagine. Why—the envelope is addressed to Admiral Allison! How could it have got among our letters?"

"Oh," said Trixy, as excited as anyone, "a man gave me the letter, a few minutes ago, to give to the Admiral, and I forgot all about it, and I've gone and cut the end of it, with the others!"

"But who can it have come from?" persisted Trif, looking into the envelope. "There is nothing else with it, and some one had drawn pictures on blank parts of the sheets."

"He must have lent it to someone, who is returning it to him," suggested Fenie.

"I've always supposed naval officers the soul of honor?" sighed Trif.

"Won't you give me the drawing on the back of it for my scrap-book, mamma?" asked Trixy. No objection being made, Trixy tore the Admiral's sketch of the gold placer and vicinity from the sheet, and pasted it into a fearfully and wonderfully made book of pictures, which she had brought from home. She looked at Jermyn's sketch a moment, thought it very like the other, and cast it aside. Her mother picked it up, read the page which she had written, and then she and Fenie devised wildly improbable theories of the history of the letter. The conclusion finally reached, greatly though they regretted it, was that the letter had been lent by the Admiral to someone in the fort, with the impression that there was some fun in it. If army and navy officers saw jokes in such things, of course Jermyn would soon hear of the letter itself, to his great discomfort; for the sisters agreed that he was too much of a gentleman to laugh over such a matter. Suddenly Fenie exclaimed:

"There's something more dreadful still. You'll have to return the letter to the Admiral."

"Never," Trif replied. "I shall mail it to Phil this very afternoon." Suiting the action to the word she enclosed it in an envelope, addressed it, and affixed a stamp to it.

"But," remonstrated Fenie, "when the Admiral returns he will want to know where the letter is, and he will speak to the man to whom he lent it, and the man will say that he sent it back, and the servant will be questioned and say he gave it to Trixy, and then—"

"Probably the messenger doesn't know Trixy by sight or name," said Trif.

"Oh, he knows me well enough," said Trixy. "He's servant to somebody in the fort, and the somebody's little girls play with me on the beach sometimes, and he comes for 'em at dinnertime and lunch time."

"I see nothing to be done, then," said Trif, "but for me to return to New York at once. We certainly owe neither courtesy nor explanation to the Admiral, whom we won't have the embarrassment of meeting if we are not here. Why, Fenie, you're crying. What is the matter, dear?"

"I should think you might know, without asking," sobbed the girl, "you, who have been in love, and——"

"You poor, dear child. Your sister is a thoughtless, heartless brute. Still, the Trewmans themselves will not remain here long; Kate said they had dropped over here only for a day or two, to see what the place——"

"Oh, that reminds me," said Trixy. "Harry gave me a card for Aunt Fee a few minutes ago. Here it is."

Fenie read the message on the card, and looked pleased, although she said:

"Oh, Harry thinks they too will have to go to New York, this very evening. He—that is, Kate, is waiting for me down stairs. You won't mind my joining her, will you? She does so dislike to be kept waiting."