Also, at various times during each day, Marcia made a point of giving a little violin concert at her window, and, at Janet's suggestion, had chosen the liveliest and most cheerful music in her repertoire for sad little Cecily's entertainment.
The two girls likewise exhausted every possibility in the line of small gifts and tiny trifles to amuse and entertain their young neighbor. But there was no further communication from her till one night after they had sent down an embroidery ring and silks, the latest pattern of a dainty boudoir-cap, and elaborate instructions how to embroider it. Next night there was a note on the end of the string when they drew it up. It read:
How dear of you to send me this! I love to embroider, and had brought no materials with me. And now I want to ask you a question. Do you mind what I do with it after it is finished? Is it my very own? What can I ever do to repay you for all your kindness!
In their answer they assured her that she could make any use of the boudoir-cap that pleased her. And then they spent much time wondering what use she was going to make of it.
Two nights later, when they pulled up the string, they found, to their surprise, a small parcel attached to the end. It contained a little box in which lay, wrapped in jeweler's cotton, a tiny coral pendant in an old-fashioned gold setting, and a silver bracelet of thin filigree-work. The pendant was labeled, "For Marcia, with Cecily's love," and the bracelet, "For Janet, with love from Cecily."
The two girls gazed at the pathetic little gifts and sudden tears came into their eyes.
"Oh, Jan!" half sobbed Marcia; "we oughtn't to keep them! They're probably the only trinkets she has."
But Janet was wiser. "We must keep them," she decided. "Cecily doesn't want all the giving to be on one side, and she has probably been longing to do something for us. I suppose these are the only things she had that would be suitable. Much as I hate to have her deprive herself of them, I know she'd be terribly hurt if we sent them back. To-morrow we must write her the best letter of thanks we can."
So the days went by for two or three weeks. The girls caught, in all this time, not so much as one glimpse of Cecily, but they managed, thanks to their "line of communication," to keep constantly in touch with her. Meantime, the summer weather waxed hotter and hotter, and the city fairly steamed under the July sun. Their own time was taken up by many diversions: trips to the parks, beaches, and zoo; excursions out of town with Aunt Minerva; shopping, and quiet sewing or reading in their pleasant living-room. Every time they went out of their home on a pleasure-jaunt, they felt guilty, to think of the lonely little prisoner cooped up in the dreary house next door, and both declared they would gladly give up their places to her, had such a thing been possible.