“Come in, Gretel,” said her sister-in-law, “I want to show you your room.” And she led the way into a wide hall hung with pictures.
“I really believe it is a castle,” laughed Gretel, pausing on the threshold to gaze about her with eager, delighted eyes. “I feel as if I must be a princess, and you and Percy are the king and queen.”
“Poor little Cinderella,” said Mrs. Douane, and there was a sudden dimness in her eyes, as she led the way up the wide staircase to the second floor.
“No, it isn’t a castle, but just a dear old house, filled with beautiful things. The old lady who owns it was a friend of my mother’s, and she has let us have the place just as it is. I used to visit here when I was a little girl, and have always loved the house, so when I heard that Mrs. Atterbury was going abroad this summer, and wanted to rent her place, I persuaded Percy to come and look at it, and he was as much delighted as I was. We have even taken the old servants; two of them have lived here for more than twenty years and knew me when I wasn’t as old as you. This is your room, right opposite mine. Come in and see how you like it.”
“Like it!” cried Gretel, and that was really all she could say just then. It was such a pretty room, with such lovely old furniture in it, and the walls were covered with charming prints and engravings. There were two big windows looking off toward the river, and the mountains on the opposite shore; and the little white bed, with its dainty furnishings was truly a joy to behold. But it was not any of these things which caused Gretel to spring forward, with a little cry. It was the sight of an old rag doll sitting in solemn state by one of the windows, and a row of shabby old books on a shelf over the writing-desk.
“They’re my own things, my own precious things!” she cried, snatching up the rag doll, and hugging it to her heart. “This is my Jemima, that Father gave me for a Christmas present, when I was only seven, and there are all my dear, dear books and the German Bible, and everything.”
“Open the desk and see what is inside,” said Mrs. Douane, smiling.
With trembling hands, Gretel opened one of the drawers in the writing-desk, and there lay a pile of old letters, tied together with a piece of faded blue ribbon. Gretel gave one little sob as she caught them up and kissed them. They were her greatest treasure of all; the letters from her father.
“Oh, Barbara, how did you get them?” she cried, rapturously. “Percy said I should have them again, but I didn’t believe I really could. I was so afraid Mrs. Marsh had thrown them away. She said she hated keeping old things; they cluttered up drawers and made more trouble in house-cleaning.”
With a sudden impulse, Mrs. Douane took her little sister in her arms, and kissed her.