were to spend the winter, and in this Mr. Gordon concurred. He had been made, at the request of the two old ladies and backed by the old country lawyer who had known their father, the guardian of Bob, who would not inherit his share of the ninety thousand dollars, of course, until he was twenty-one. Bob himself was very much pleased to be a ward of Betty's uncle, feeling that now he "really belonged," as he happily said.
"Who do you suppose this is from?" asked Betty, waving a letter at Bob one morning not long after their visit to the oil fields with the aunts. "You'll never guess!"
Bob looked up from his book. He was luxuriously stretched under a tree, reading.
"From Bobby Littell?" he ventured.
"Bob Henderson, can you read the postmark from where you are?" Betty looked disappointed for a moment. "Oh, well, I might have known you would have guessed it. It is from Bobby. Want to hear a little bit?"
"I don't mind," conceded Bob graciously, keeping a finger in his book.
"She says they've been to Atlantic City for a month," explained Betty. "That is, Bobby, Esther, Louise and Mrs. Littell. Mr. Littell could spend only a week with them. And now the girls are going to boarding school. Listen.
