'Exactly! Well, are there any letters?'

'Si, senor.' Whereupon he drew one from his gorgeously-decorated
leather belt.

Philip reached for it, and Polly leaned over his shoulder, devoured
with curiosity.

'It's for Aunt Truth,' she said; 'and--yes, I am sure it is Mrs.
Howard's writing; and if it is--'

Hereupon, as Manuel spoke no English, and neither Philip nor Polly
could make inquiries in Spanish, Polly darted to the cart in her
usual meteoric style, put one foot on the hub of a wheel and climbed
to the top like a squirrel, snatched off a corner of the canvas
cover, and cried triumphantly, 'I knew it! Elsie is coming! Here's
a tent, and some mattresses and pillows. Hurry! Help me down,
quick! Oh, slow-coach! Keep out of the way and I'll jump! Give me
the letter. I can run faster than you can.' And before the vestige
of an idea had penetrated Philip's head, nothing could be seen of
Polly but a pair of twinkling heels and the gleam of a curly head
that caught every ray of the sun and turned it into ruddier gold.

It was a dusty, rocky path, and up-hill at that; but Polly, who was
nothing if not ardent, never slackened her pace, but dashed along
until she came in sight of the camp, where she expended her last
breath in one shrill shriek for Aunt Truth.

It was responded to promptly. Indeed, it was the sort of shriek that
always commands instantaneous attention; and Aunt Truth came out of