“It seems as if our secret would forever remain a secret,” remarked Mabel as the two neared their destination one August afternoon.
“It is much more romantic the way it is. We might be frightfully disappointed in Robert if we were to meet him. I don’t know that I really want to. Do you?” Ellen asked.
“I am not sure. It would be rather fun to see him without his knowing who we are; then we could decide whether we wanted to continue this funny correspondence.”
“Maybe we could manage that, though there may be no answer to our last effusion. Let’s hurry up and find out.”
But when they reached the room and opened the cupboard door there was another note which they eagerly read. It ran:
“Hail to thee, blythe spirit! A wood-nymph thou art, I know now by thy birch-bark sign. The hollow tree must be thy dwelling place. Mortal though I be, I fain would have speech with thee. Can I not lure thee forth by some subtle strain? Music is a language common to all. When and how can we meet?
“R. M.”
The girls sat down on the worn steps which led up-stairs, and began to confer upon a plan of procedure. First one and then the other made suggestions, whispering and glancing up once in a while, as if they feared discovery. At last, amid much laughter, they decided upon a plot.
“It’s lucky I brought paper this time,” said Mabel, producing a small pad, “unless you’d rather continue the birch-bark episode.”
“No, now that we have come down to practical facts, let’s have the paper, and you write this time; that will make it the more confusing, although I disguised my writing,—printed the words; it was easier to do it on the birch bark.”