“She is always up to pranks, but she does not generally treat us unkindly,” said the aggrieved elder girl, feeling somehow that the house was not a “Snuggery” without the sharpest of the “pickles.”
“Oh, here is a note!” cried little Christina; who sometimes read a love-story surreptitiously, and was akin to Octave in her desire for a “romance.” “I’ve heard Octave say lots of times that sometime she’d run away, and now I do believe she’s done it! Read it, quick! I found it on her pincushion. That’s the very place run-awayers always put notes.”
“Pray, small one, how do you know that?” demanded Content, demurely. “I believe you’ve been reading Luke’s ‘Story Paper’ again!”
“Well, read it any way,” urged the little girl, in her excitement paying less heed than usual to Content’s gentle reprimand.
This was the note,——
Friends and Relatives, especially Paula:
I’ve gone, but not for good. I mean I have gone for good, as you will all know at some future to come. I haven’t gone yet, but I’m going. I shall come to no harm, and you need not worry about me. When I return HE will be with me. That is, I hope HE will. HE will if my persuasions can prevail. I have money enough. Having none of my own,—as you all well know, I spent it for confections,—I have been supplied with funds by the OTHER CONSPIRATOR in the case. I do not know when I shall return, but I shall return; for I am the “bad penny” of the family. Don’t sit up nights, and don’t worry about me. I am all right, and I shall “continner on.” Don’t be silly enough to write to Aunt Ruth, for even she would have no terrors for me, since I go to seek HIM. So don’t worry about me. Bother! that’s the third time I have written that perfectly unnecessary sentence, since she who writes is
“Only Octave.”
P. S. I am in a perfect heaven of delight. I was never a conspirator before, and I was never in a MYSTERY till now. I hope I can hatch up one every few days hereafter, it’s so enchanting. Just think! I, Octave Pickel, am a heroine!
Good-bye—farewell—addio!