“But you will never guess what turn their conversation took. They did not begin to say how sorry they had been, or were; nor did they make any angry remarks about their aunt’s cruelty; but one day as they were sitting playing with Carlo, in what may be called the Tod corner of the nursery, the eldest child said suddenly to her sister, in a low voice
“‘What do you think our aunt has really done with the Tods?’
“A question which seemed not at all to surprise the other, for she answered, in the same mysterious tone:—
“‘I don’t know, but I don’t think she could burn them.’
“‘And I don’t, either,’ was the rejoinder. ‘Perhaps she has only put them somewhere where we cannot get at them.’
“The next idea came from the younger child:—
“‘Do you think she’ll ever let us have them back again?’
“But the answer to this was a long shake of the head from the wiser elder sister. And then they began to play with Carlo again.
“But after that day they used often to exchange a few words together on the subject, although only to the same effect—their aunt could not have burnt them, they felt sure. She never said she had burnt them. She only said, ‘You will never see the Tods any more.’
“Perhaps she had only put them by; perhaps she had put them by in some comfortable place; perhaps they were in their little basket in some closet, or corner of the house, quite as snug as up in the nursery.