"OO-w!" gasped Stanton. "O-u-c-h! G-e-e!" then, "Oh, I wish I could
purr!" as he settled cautiously back at last to toast his pains
against the blessed, scorching heat. "Most girls," he reasoned with
surprising interest, "would have sent ice cold violets shrouded in
tissue paper. Now, how does this special girl know--Oh, Ouch! O-u-c-h!
O-u-c-h--i--t--y!" he crooned himself to sleep.

The next night just at supper-time a much-freckled messenger-boy
appeared dragging an exceedingly obstreperous fox-terrier on the end
of a dangerously frayed leash. Planting himself firmly on the rug in
the middle of the room, with the faintest gleam of saucy pink tongue
showing between his teeth, the little beast sat and defied the entire
situation. Nothing apparently but the correspondence concerning the
situation was actually transferable from the freckled messenger boy to
Stanton himself.

"Oh, dear Lad," said the tiny note, "I forgot to tell you my
real name, didn't I!--Well, my last name and the dog's first
name are just the same. Funny, isn't it? (You'll find it in
the back of almost any dictionary.)

"With love,

"MOLLY.

"P. S. Just turn the puppy out in the morning and he'll go
home all right of his own accord."

With his own pink tongue showing just a trifle between his teeth,
Stanton lay for a moment and watched the dog on the rug. Cocking his