'I don't mean to be selfish,' she said, 'but—I would so like to go on making my pincushion. You know I've only about ten days more to make it in.'
'Of course you shall, my dear,' said Miss Clotilda. 'Selfish! No indeed, that you are not. And but for you, I do not believe we should ever have found the will at all.'
Philippa looked intensely pleased.
'I always had a feeling it was in the house,' she said. 'And then my dream was very queer. But it wasn't much good, for it was such a muddle.'
'Dreams generally are,' said Miss Clotilda. 'No, I wasn't thinking of your dream. It was your wishing to make something for your mother in the first place'—
'And our going to Dol-bach and seeing the pincushion there, and our travelling with the farmer, and my seeing the old ones in the cupboard—that came of my not posting the letter to aunty, so that our trunks hadn't come, and aunty had to open the cupboard to get out a night-gown for me—and—and—oh, dear, how strange it seems! Really as if it was a good thing I forgot to post the letter.'
Miss Clotilda could not help smiling.
'Don't let that encourage you to think carelessness of any kind "a good thing," my dear Kathie,' she said, 'even though good does sometimes come of ill.'
'And it was a sort of carelessness that caused all the trouble, you see. If the old lady—old Mrs. Wynne—had only looked at the paper before she put it in the envelope, there wouldn't have been any, would there?' said Philippa, in her little prim way.