paddock to her heart's content. Time enough to break her to harness when
she gets a little older."

The door opened, and Magdalen returned with the key. She unlocked the
post-bag at the sideboard and poured out the letters in a heap. Sorting
them gayly in less than a minute, she approached the breakfast-table
with both hands full, and delivered the letters all round with the
business-like rapidity of a London postman.

"Two for Norah," she announced, beginning with her sister. "Three for
Miss Garth. None for mamma. One for me. And the other six all for papa.
You lazy old darling, you hate answering letters, don't you?" pursued
Magdalen, dropping the postman's character and assuming the daughter's.
"How you will grumble and fidget in the study! and how you will wish
there were no such things as letters in the world! and how red your nice
old bald head will get at the top with the worry of writing the answers;
and how many of the answers you will leave until tomorrow after all!
_The Bristol Theater's open, papa,_" she whispered, slyly and suddenly,
in her father's ear; "I saw it in the newspaper when I went to the
library to get the key. Let's go to-morrow night!"

While his daughter was chattering, Mr. Vanstone was mechanically sorting
his letters. He turned over the first four in succession and looked
carelessly at the addresses. When he came to the fifth his attention,
which had hitherto wandered toward Magdalen, suddenly became fixed on
the post-mark of the letter.

Stooping over him, with her head on his shoulder, Magdalen could see the
post-mark as plainly as her father saw it--NEW ORLEANS.