They loitered as the other "trippers", now filled with zeal to catch the
trolley, pushed past them up the glen, and soon they were practically
alone. Nature reasserted her sway as though there had never been
laughter and babble along the musical stream and under the over-arching
trees. The friends walked more and more slowly. A white thing lay on the
path before them, and Dick stooped to pick it up, while Ellery looked on
with mild curiosity.
"It's a letter, stamped and sealed." Percival peered at it closely, for
though the level sunlight flooded the tops of the trees, down here by
the stream it was fast growing dark.
"Not much sealed, either," he added, noticing what a tiny spot of the
flap stuck tight to the paper beneath. "Some one has dropped it here. By
Jove, Ellery, it's addressed to William Barry! I'd give a farm in North
Dakota to know what's in it."
He turned it again and stared at the back.
"I noticed," said Ellery, "that there was a mail-box near where we left
the automobile. You can post it as we go along."
"Yes," assented Dick. He glared at the name of William Barry as though
it fascinated him. Then he tucked the letter into his breast pocket.
As the motor began to champ its bit, Norris remarked: "You forgot to mail that letter, Dick."
"So I did," said Dick. "No matter. I'll post it in town. It will go all
the quicker."