“Doesn’t Mr. Cameron know you’re up here?” asked Adele.

“No; I haven’t seen him for a week or two.  He went South with the Homers and only came home the day I left.”

The plan was carefully thought out, amid giggling and laughter, and the final result was achieved by Patty in the form of a much scribbled letter.

“Now I’m going down to copy this on Jim’s typewriter,” she said.  And she flew downstairs to the library, from which opened a small office fitted up for Mr. Kenerley’s home use.

Jim Kenerley had gone to business, and Van Reypen and Hal Ferris were playing golf, so Patty had the place to herself; and by dint of slow but persevering pounding on the typewriter, she picked out the following missive: 

“Mr. Christopher Cameron:  Dear Mr. Cameron,

A few weeks ago I heard you play the violin at a concert!  Oh, if I could tell you the raptures that thrilled my soul at the floods of melody you drew from the insensate strings!  Only a poet’s spirit, only a high-strung heart could accomplish such strains!  I, too, am of a musical spirit; I, too, thrill to the notes of the great masters, if interpreted as they are by you!  May I hope that you will not spurn this outburst of a sympathetic nature, and accept this tribute to your genius?  Could I look for a line,—­just a word,—­in response to this, saying that you are glad of my appreciation?  Never before have I written to a stranger.  That is why I dare not use my own penmanship.  Please do not seek to find out who I am, but send just a line that I may know you do not scorn my praise.  Address Miss Belle Harcourt, Maple Bank, Conn.”

The conspirators had decided upon the Maple Bank Post-office as being safer than Fern Falls, if Kit should by any chance hear that Patty had gone to the Kenerleys’.

“You know,” said Patty, as she sealed the letter, “it might be mean to play this trick on anybody else, but Kit plays so many jokes on other people, he deserves it.  And while he’s not over-conceited, yet he’s just vain enough to be tickled to death with this appreciation of his music.  ‘Miss Harcourt’ will get an answer, all right!  Come on, girls, let’s get ready to go to Maple Bank.”

And in a short time the three plotters were motoring over to the adjoining village to post the precious document.

Of course, they did not tell the men about this, and the three kept it an inviolate secret.

“We can hardly expect an answer for two days,” said Patty, “but if I know Mr. Kit, he’ll reply about as quickly as possible.”

And sure enough, when the next day but one the three again invaded the little Maple Bank post-office, there was a letter from New York City for Miss Belle Harcourt.

“Read it, read it!” cried Daisy as they started homeward with their prize.

The three sat side by side in the motor, with Patty in the middle, and they all giggled, as Patty read the letter aloud.