"Don't smile like that, Leon, you're positively irresistible! It will be
a nice little game, won't it? Nobody in it but you and me--and Belcher!
We'll outwit them yet. And, you see, you'll be obliged to come to me,
after all, without my asking."

They both laughed; indeed, quite a dimpled, bright-eyed, rosy, innocent
pair, though I think Leonidas was the more maidenly.

"And," added Leonidas, with breathless eagerness, "I can sometimes write
to--to--Jim, and inclose your letter."

"Angel of wisdom! certainly. Well, now, let's see--have you got any
letters for the post to-day?" He colored again, for in anticipation of
meeting her he had hurried up the family post that morning. He held out
his letters: she thrust her own among them. "Now," she said, laying her
cool, soft hand against his hot cheek, "run along, dear; you must not be
seen loitering here."

Leonidas ran off, buoyed up on ambient air. It seemed just like a
fairy-book. Here he was, the confidant of the most beautiful creature he
had seen, and there was a mysterious letter coming to him--Leonidas--and
no one to know why. And now he had a "call" to see her often; she would
not forget him--he needn't loiter by the fencepost to see if she wanted
him--and his boyish pride and shyness were appeased. There was no
question of moral ethics raised in Leonidas's mind; he knew that it
would not be the real Jim Belcher who would write to him, but that made
the prospect the more attractive. Nor did another circumstance trouble
his conscience. When he reached the post-office, he was surprised to see
the man whom he knew to be Mr. Burroughs talking with the postmaster.