"Then he didn't," Patience observed. "Does mother know about it?"

"I mean to tell her as soon as I get a good chance," Pauline said
impatiently, going back to the dining-room.

When she returned a few moments later, she found Patience still in the
pantry, sitting thoughtfully on the old, blue sugar bucket. "I know,"
Patience announced triumphantly. "You've been writing to Uncle Paul!"

Pauline gasped and fled to the kitchen; there were times when flight
was the better part of discretion, in dealing with the youngest member
of the Shaw family.

On the whole, Patience behaved very well that evening, only, on going
to bid her father good-night, did she ask anxiously, how long it took
to send a letter to New York and get an answer.

"That depends considerably upon the promptness with which the party
written to answers the letter," Mr. Shaw told her.

"A week?" Patience questioned.

"Probably--if not longer."

Patience sighed.

"Have _you_ been writing a letter to someone in New York?" her father
asked.