"What in the world is that flying across the Minots' yard,--a brown
hen or a boy's kite?" exclaimed old Miss Hopkins, peering out of
her window at the singular performances going on in her opposite
neighbor's garden.

First, Frank appeared with a hatchet and chopped a clear space in
the hedge between his own house and the cottage; next, a clothes
line was passed through this aperture and fastened somewhere on
the other side; lastly, a small covered basket, slung on this rope,
was seen hitching along, drawn either way by a set of strings; then,
as if satisfied with his job, Frank retired, whistling "Hail
Columbia."

"It's those children at their pranks again. I thought broken bones
wouldn't keep them out of mischief long," said the old lady,
watching with great interest the mysterious basket travelling up
and down the rope from the big house to the cottage.

If she had seen what came and went over the wires of the "Great
International Telegraph," she would have laughed till her
spectacles flew off her Roman nose. A letter from Jack, with a
large orange, went first, explaining the new enterprise:--

"Dear Jill,--It's too bad you can't come over to see me. I am pretty
well, but awful tired of keeping still. I want to see you ever so
much. Frank has fixed us a telegraph, so we can write and send
things. Won't it be jolly! I can't look out to see him do it; but, when
you pull your string, my little bell rings, and I know a message is
coming. I send you an orange. Do you like _gorver_ jelly? People