Clodagh felt a thrill of awe as she caught the mysterious words. But in another moment Cousin Felicity had turned to her briskly, pointing to a neat, good-sized trunk standing in front of the fireplace.
"That is all my luggage," she announced. "It holds more than Paulina's fine lady's maid would have got into half-a-dozen like it, because I know how to pack. But—look at it well."
Clodagh stared at it obediently.
"Shut your eyes." She did so. Then it seemed to her that she heard a murmur of words.
"Open." Clodagh again obeyed. And this time, stare she did, for—the box was no longer there, it had vanished from view!
She was too astonished to speak.
"Hold out your hand," was the next command.
Cousin Felicity laid something on the outstretched palm. Clodagh gazed at it in amazement and admiration. It was a miniature trunk, evidently of the finest make. Never had she seen such a perfect toy of its kind, and it was an exact facsimile of her strange old friend's substantial box, which a minute before had been standing in front of her in the most matter-of-fact way. It was small—not above a couple of inches in length, and half as much in width and depth, but curiously heavy. It might almost have been a small block of lead, fashioned to represent a Liliputian portmanteau, and still Clodagh stood there staring at it, without speaking.
"That is how I travel," said the mysterious little lady at last. "It contains all my belongings, just as I told you the other—or rather itself in its other proportions—does. See, I slip it in here," and she held out the black hand-bag, or reticule, which the girl had noticed in the coach, and taking the little box from Clodagh she did as she said, "I draw the strings, I hang it over my arm," accompanying her explanations by the appropriate actions, "and there I am, ready to journey from one end of Europe to the other, or farther still, with no anxiety."
Her young protégée lifted her eyes.