"Then I can't lose it." "'There is no surer way,'" she repeated to herself as she carried the box back to her room, "'to bridge the space between ...

with the cheer and sympathy and good-will.'" There flashed across her mind the thought of some one who needed cheer and sympathy far more than Joyce did, and who would welcome a friendly letter from her with its foreign stamp, as eagerly as if it were some real treasure.

Jessie Nolan was the girl she thought of, an invalid with a crippled spine, to whom the dull days in her wheeled chair by the window seemed endless, and who had so little to brighten her monotonous life.
"I'll write her a note this minute," thought Lloyd, with a warm glow in her heart.

"I'll describe some of the sights we have seen, and send her that fo' leafed clovah that I found at the chateau yestahday, undah a window of the great hall where Anne of Brittany was married ovah fo' hundred yeahs ago.

I don't suppose Jessie gets a lettah once a yeah." When that note was written, Lloyd thought of Mom Beck and the pride that would shine in the face of her old black nurse if she should receive a letter from Europe, and how proudly it would be carried around and displayed to all the coloured people in the Valley.