At this moment she spied a handkerchief lying on the floor, which she picked up and began to examine. Ellen meantime searched for the one she now missed. “I think that must be mine,” she said; “it fell out of my lap, I suppose.”
“I am afraid you are mistaken,” rejoined Miss Wickham. “See, it bears my initials, and, besides, has my private mark, a black dot in the corner, a very tiny one, to be sure, but there it is.”
It was Ellen’s turn to stare; then suddenly came illumination. “You are Mary West!” she cried. “I know you are, and that is why you have been looking at me so hard; it is because of the hat and dress. You recognize them, but why is your name Mabel Wickham, and how did you know about me?”
Miss Wickham was silent for a moment. “You won’t be mad if I tell you? I’ll ’fess up, though I know you will be absolutely convinced that I am the idiot I seem to be.”
“Mad? I’m only delighted that I have a chance to thank the good fairy who sent me that box and made it possible for me not to mortify my friends here when I came to visit them. Do please tell me all about it.”
“Well, it was done in the manner of a joke, I was going out of mourning, and had already given away a lot of things to perfectly ungrateful, unappreciative persons, so I thought I’d do something unusual. I packed a few things in a box to go off just anywhere, I didn’t care where. Then I thought up a nice ordinary name. Ellen seemed to please me, but Ellen—what? I stood up, shut my eyes, and turned around two or three times. When I opened them I was facing north. Ellen North, said I, a good sensible name, so I wrote that on the box. Then it occurred to me that the name of the sender would be required. I took my own initials; Mary would do for Mabel, and, as points of the compass were in order, West would do for Wickham. The next question was where to send it. I opened a map, shut my eyes again, and plumped my finger down anywhere. It happened to fall on Marshville, so there you are. I know you must think me the silliest, most fanciful person in the world, but I enjoyed the game and sent out my box into the unknown, wondering what would happen to it, and if any one would get it.”
“It is like a real Christmas fairy tale,” declared Ellen, “and a lovely one for me. I don’t see how you thought of doing that way; yes, I do, though, for I just love to use my imagination, and I am pleased to pieces to think the things came my way just as if a fairy godmother had brought them in a pumpkin-shell chariot.”
“Oh, you dear thing! I just love your saying that. I believe we are going to be friends. I don’t have many friends because so many people are stupid; at least, they think my flights of fancy are just crazy foolishness. Perhaps I am as stupid as they because it isn’t yet through my noddle how you happened to guess I was Mary West.”
“Because of the handkerchief, you see. It was such a nice fine one. I found it in the pocket of the coat and so I used it. Don’t you see?”
Miss Wickham opened her bag and produced a handkerchief exactly like the one she had picked up from the floor. “Twins!” she exclaimed. “But, oh, dear, you are minus a handkerchief if I keep this one; that will not do.”