She looked so dismal and drew such a forlorn picture of herself that Mollie burst into laughing, for Eileen had fits of the blues and grumbles in the one instant, and the next was flying round the house in high good temper, the gayest of the gay.
Every mail day now they watched for Teddy with wild eagerness and suppressed excitement, but Teddy came and Teddy went in the same old way, handing out letters that didn’t “count,” fishing out papers and telling scraps of news, and riding off again without gladdening their hearts.
But an eventful day arrived, when he lingered longer than usual over his cup of tea; when he strapped and buckled and unbuckled the pack-saddles, and fixed and arranged the mail-bags until the coast was clear, and then across a great stack of canvas bags he beckoned to Mollie.
“Here,” he said, as he whipped a letter out of his pocket; “here you are, and don’t say that Teddo failed you.”
“Oh, Teddy!” murmured Mollie, growing almost faint with excitement—“at last!”
“Yes, at last, right enough,” answered Teddy, “and I hope it brings you luck,” he said as he rode off.
Mollie stood with the precious letter in her hand, almost too dazed to speak. She must tell the others and get them all away together—away down in the bed of the creek, under the big gum tree, where all their picnics were held. They must all get away together, where no one could hear them, and she must not open the precious letter till the others were with her.
Mother was lying down reading the paper, and the men had gone out again, so she called softly to the others, who came out with curiosity stamped on their faces. Mollie beckoned and pointed to the road down the creek, and then with her fingers on her lips to denote silence she held up the magic letter.
“Sh! No noise, creep out quietly, and not a word!”
Once out of the house and garden, they scampered as fast as they could down the track to the creek, Eva making up the rear with Baby, who puffed and stumbled; but not a word did she utter after that warning glance of Mollie’s.