MEG LOOKED RATHER LIKE A LITTLE WITCH.
“I believe that too,” said Meg, and this time it was she who clutched at Robin’s hand; but he seemed glad she did, and held as close as she.
And then, after the bluebirds had sung a few times more, there came a night when Meg crept out of her cot after she was sure that the woman in the other bed was sleeping heavily enough. Every one went to bed early, and every one slept through the night in heavy, tired sleep. Too much work was done on the place to allow people to waste time in sleeplessness. Meg knew no one would waken as she crept down stairs to the lower part of the house and softly opened the back door.
Robin was standing outside, with the little leather satchel in his hand. It was a soft, warm night, and the dark blue sky was full of the glitter of stars.
Both he and Meg stood still a moment, and looked up. “I’m glad it’s like this,” Meg said; “it doesn’t seem so lonely. Is your heart thumping, Robin?”
“Yes, rather,” whispered Robin. “I left the letter in a place where Aunt Matilda will be likely to find it some time to-morrow.”
“What did you say?” Meg whispered back.
“What I told you I was going to. There wasn’t much to say. Just told her we had saved our money, and gone away for a few days; and we were all right, and she needn’t worry.”
Everything was very still about them. There was no moon, and, but for the stars, it would have been very dark. As it was, the stillness of night and sleep, and the sombreness of the hour, might have made less strong little creatures feel timid and alone.