It was a dusty, rocky path, and up-hill at that; but Polly, who was nothing if not ardent, never slackened her pace, but dashed along until she came in sight of the camp, where she expended her last breath in one shrill shriek for Aunt Truth.
It was responded to promptly. Indeed, it was the sort of shriek that always commands instantaneous attention; and Aunt Truth came out of her tent prepared to receive tragic news. Bell followed; and the entire family would have done the same had they been in camp.
Polly thrust the letter into Mrs. Winship’s hand, and sank down exhausted, exclaiming, breathlessly, “There’s a mattress—and a tent—coming up the cañon. It’s Elsie’s, I know. Philip is down at the gate—with the cart—but I came ahead. Phew! but it’s warm!”
“What!” cried Bell, joyfully. “Elsie at the gate! It can’t be true!” And she darted like an arrow through the trees.
“Come back! come back!” screamed Polly.
“Elsie is not at the gate. Don S. D. M. F. H. N. is there with a team loaded down with things. Isn’t it from Mrs. Howard, Aunt Truth?”
“Yes, it is. Written this morning from Tacitas Rancho. Why, how is this? Let me see!”
Tacitas Rancho, Monday morning.
Dear Truth,—You will be surprised to receive a letter from me, written from Tacitas. But here we are, Elsie and I; and, what is better, we are on our way to you.
(“I knew it!” exclaimed the girls.)