"Katy, can you spare a few minutes ?" "No, lambie, I jist can't," said Katy, "because a young person that's the apple of me eye is havin' a birthday the day and I have got me custard cake in the oven and the custard is in the makin', and after Miss Eileen went and I didn't see no chance for nothin' special, I jist happened to look out, one of the ways ye do things unbeknownst to yourself, and there stood Mr.Pater Morrison moonin' over the 'graveyard,' like he called it, and it was lookin' like seein' graves he was, and I jist took the bull by the horns, and I sings out to him and I says: 'Mr.Pater Morrison, it's a good friend ye were to the young missus when ye engineered her skylight and her beautiful fireplace, and this bein' her birthday, I'm takin' the liberty to ask ye to come to dinner and help me celebrate.' And he said he would run up to the garage and get into his raygimentals, whatever them might be, and he would be here at six o'clock.

So ye got a guest for dinner, and if the custard's scorched and the cake's flat, it's up to ye for kapin' me here to tell ye all this." Then Katy hurried to the kitchen.

Linda looked at John Gilman and smiled.
"Isn't that like her ?" she said.
Then she led the way to the library, pulled aside the books, fitted the key to the little door, and opened it.

Inside lay a single envelope, sealed and bearing her name.

She took the envelope, and walking to her father's chair beside his library table, sat down in it, and laying the envelope on the table, crossed her hands on top of it.
"John," she said, "ever since I have been big enough to think and reason and study things out for myself, there is a feeling I have had--I used to think it was unreasonable, then I thought it remote possibility.