“By Jove!” exclaimed Bart, “how beautiful the Opie farm looks to-night!  If a real-estate agent could only get a photograph of what we see, we should soon have a neighbour to rescue the place!”

“You mustn’t call it the Opie farm any more; it is Opal Farm from to-night!” I cried, “and no one shall buy it unless they promise to leave in the old windows and let the meadow and crab orchard stay as they are, besides giving me right of way through it quite down to the river woods!”

But to get back by this circuitous route to the threatened danger with which I opened this letter—­

The postman whistled, as he has an alluring way of doing when he brings the evening mail, always hoping that some one will come out for a bit of evening gossip, in which he is rarely disappointed.

We all started to our feet, but Maria, whose special duty it had become to look over the mail, distanced us all by taking a short cut, regardless of wet grass.

Talk branched into divers pleasant ways, and we had almost forgotten her errand when she returned and, breaking abruptly into the conversation, said to Bart, “Sorry to interrupt, but the postman reports that there are three large crates of live stock down at the station, and the agent says will you please send for them to-night, as he doesn’t dare leave them out, there are so many strangers about, and they will surely stifle if he crowds them into the office!”

“Live stock!” exclaimed Bart, “I’m sure I’ve bought nothing!” Then, as light broke in his brain,—­“Maybe it’s that setter pup that Truesdale promised me as soon as it was weaned, which would be about now!”

“Would a setter pup come in three crates?” inquired The Man, solemnly.

“It must be live plants and not live stock!” I said, coming to Bart’s rescue, “for Aunt Lavinia Cortright wrote me last week that she was sending me some of her prize pink Dahlias, and some gladioli bulbs!”

“Possibly these might fill three large cases!” laughed Bart, in his turn.

“Why not see if any of those letters throw light upon the mystery, and then I’ll help ‘hook up,’ as I suppose Barney has gone home, and we will bring up the crates even if they contain crocodiles!” said The Man, cheerfully.  Complications always have an especially cheering effect upon him, I’ve often noticed.

The beams of a quarter moon were picturesque, but not a satisfactory light by which to read letters, especially when under excitement, so Bart brought out a carriage lantern with which we had equipped our camp, and proceeded to sort the mail, tossing the rejected letters into my lap.

Suddenly he paused at one, extra bulky and bearing the handwriting of his mother, weighed it on the palm of his hand, and opened it slowly.  From it fell three of the yellow-brown papers upon which receipts for expressage are commonly written; I picked them up while Bart read slowly—­