And as Sylvie took the thin envelope that held so much, and the two
girls silently passed up into the piazza again, he paid Sim the
eighty cents which nobody thought of at that moment or ever again,
and sent him off.

Sylvie and Amy stopped under the softly bright hall lantern. Mrs.
Argenter was up-stairs in her dressing room, quite at the end of the
long upper hall, changing her lace sack for a cashmere, before
coming out into the evening air again.

"I think I shall open it myself," whispered Sylvie, tremulously; "it
would seem worse to mother, whatever it is, coming this way. She has
such a horror of a telegram." She looked at it on both sides, drew a
little shivering breath, and paused again.

"Is it wicked, do you think, to wish it may be--only grandma,
perhaps? Do you suppose it could _possibly_ be--my _father_?"

And by this time there was a hysterical sound in poor little
Sylvie's voice.

"Wait a minute," said Amy, kindly. "Here's Rod."

"OFFICE OF WESTERN UNION TELEGRAPH CO.,
NEW YORK, _July_ 24_th_, 187-.

"To MRS. I. M. ARGENTER, Dorbury, Mass.

"Mr. Argenter has had a sunstroke. Insensible. Very serious.