“It is from Easterhaze,” said the child. “Thank you—thank you, posty.”
She snatched the first letter away from the old man and darted away with it. Into the nursery she rushed.
“Here it is, nursey. Open it, quick! I am to go; I know I am.”
Nurse did open the letter. It was from Miss Tredgold, and it ran as follows:
“Dear Nurse: Penelope is evidently too much for you. I intend to remain two or three days longer in this pleasant place, so do not expect me home next week. I shall have Penelope here, so send her to me by the first train that leaves Lyndhurst Road to-morrow. Take her to the station and put her into the charge of the guard. She had better travel first-class. If you see any nice, quiet-looking lady in the carriage, put Penelope into her charge. I enclose a postal order for expenses. Wire to me by what train to expect the child.”
The letter ended with one or two more directions, but to these Pen scarcely listened. Her face was pale with joy. She had worked hard; she had plotted much; she had succeeded.
“I feel as though I’d like to be really quite good,” was her first thought.
Nurse expected that she would be nearly mad with glee; but she left the nursery quietly. She went downstairs quietly. Her sisters were at breakfast. She entered the room and stood before them.
“Pennies, please,” she said.
“What do you mean?” asked Briar, who was pouring out coffee.