A knock at the door saved Nancy from an answer.
It was old Noah, the porter. He held a letter in his hand.
"It's fer Mis' Anne Leavitt and I'm blessed if I know which one of yez so, I sez, I'll jes' take it to the two of yez and let you toss up fer it!"
It was not unusual for the two girls to find their mail confused. They generally distinguished by the handwriting or the postmarks. But now they both stared at the letter they took from Noah's hand.
It was addressed in a fine, old-fashioned handwriting.
"I can't recognize it," exclaimed one Anne Leavitt.
"I'm sure I never saw it before!" cried the other.
"Isn't this exciting? Let me see the postmark. F-r-e-e-d-o-m!" spelled Nancy. "I never heard of it," she declared.
"I believe it's mine! I have some relatives—or did have—a great aunt or something, who lived near a place like that way up on North Hero Island. I'd forgotten all about them. Open it, Claire, and let's see what it is."'
"You never told us about any aunt on any North Hero Island! It sounds like a romance, Anne," accused Nancy, who thought she knew everything about her friend.