where I am, and it makes me feel as if I were far away from everybody, in a beautiful land all sunshine and flowers. But nurse says I must not write so much or you will not read it, so I will stop here. But if you would come it would make someone happier than even your beautiful
That was all; there was neither name nor date. A child’s epistle, written with a woman’s circumspection. With mingled sensations of doubt and curiosity I turned back to the old woman who stood awaiting me with eager anxiety.
“Was this written by a child or woman?” I asked, meeting her eye with as much sternness as I could assume.
“Don’t ask me—don’t ask me anything. I have promised to bring you if I could, but I cannot answer any questions.”
I stepped back with an incredulous laugh. Here was evidently an adventure. “You will at least tell me where the young miss lives,” said I,