of it. We love Rose Atherton as much as you do."

Polly Sherwood shaded her eyes with her hand, and looked along the broad
avenue.

"Oh, now I see him!" she cried, "and he's taking out a handful of
letters as he comes along."

The postman laughed at Polly's eagerness.

"Three for you, Miss Polly," he said, as he placed them in her hands.

Polly looked at the envelopes. "That one is from my cousin," she said.
"She always uses pink paper, and that one is from a little girl I used
to play with before we came to live at Sherwood Hall. I know, because
her paper is always pale green, but THIS one--" she held up the envelope
with a little cry of delight, "THIS one is from Rose!"

With Leslie and Vivian looking over her shoulder, Polly opened the
letter.

"Read it with me," she said.

"Oh, read it aloud while we listen," said Leslie.

Rose had been a dear little playmate when she had lived with her Aunt
Judith in a little cottage, near Sherwood Hall. Now that she had gone to
live with her Great-Aunt Rose, for whom she had been named, and some
miles distant, her little friends remembered her, and wished that she
were with them.