“Dear Percy, I may as well say it right away, I am a dishonest person. I stole Barbara’s ticket to fairy-land—I mean the opera. I didn’t know it was hers till last night, but I always knew it was somebody’s. I found it on the sidewalk, and I kept it, and went to hear Lohengrin. I knew it was wicked, but I wanted to hear Lohengrin more than anything else in the world, and I thought nobody would ever find out. Nobody ever did, but now I know it was Barbara’s ticket, I can’t keep the secret any longer.
“It happened the very afternoon you came home. I was going to tell you once, but you said to let bygones be bygones, and I was so glad, because I thought if you knew you might not love me, and nobody had loved me since Father died. If I hadn’t found out it was Barbara’s ticket I am afraid I might never have told, but I couldn’t go on living here in this beautiful place, and having everybody so good to me, and not have you know I was a dishonest person. If I didn’t tell now, I should be a great deal more dishonest than I was before.
“I am going to some old friends of Father’s in New York, and I think they’ll let me stay with them till I can earn some money. I don’t play the piano at all well now, but I play much better than a boy I know, and he said his father was going to get him into vaudeville, so I think perhaps Fritz Lipheim can get me into vaudeville, too, and just as soon as I have earned three dollars I will send it to Barbara, to pay for that ticket. I heard her tell you it cost three dollars.
“Please don’t be any angrier with me than you can help. I know you can’t ever love me any more, because you love Barbara so much, and it was her ticket, but she is so good I think perhaps she will forgive me when she knows how sorry and ashamed I am.
“Good-by, dear Percy; thank you a million times for all the beautiful things you have done for me, and please try to forgive me if you possibly can.
“Your loving little sister,
“Gretel.
“PS. I am not taking any more clothes than I can help. I hope you will be able to find some other little girl to give them to, for I know she will love them as much as I did.”
Gretel was not at all satisfied with her letter when she read it over, but there was no time to write another, for already the clock on the stairs was striking six, and in another half hour the servants would be up and about. So, having put the poor little confession in the most conspicuous place on the desk and given one more glance about the pretty room, which was to have been hers, she opened her door, and stepped softly out into the silent hall. How very still it was; evidently the household was still in bed and asleep. Gretel stole on tiptoe past her brother’s closed door, and down the front stairs to the lower hall. The front door was fastened, but the key turned easily in the lock, and two minutes later a little figure, carrying a heavy suit-case, was walking rapidly down the broad avenue to the gate.
It was the beginning of a very hot day, but as yet the air felt fresh and cool, and the sun only comfortably warm. How beautiful it all was, with the dew sparkling on the grass in the bright morning sunshine, and birds singing in every tree. Gretel paused at the gate for one last long look, and a big lump rose in her throat, but still she did not waver in her purpose. With one quickly suppressed sob, she turned resolutely away, and in another moment Cinderella had turned her back on the palace of beauty, and was trudging away down the dusty road to the station.
It was still too early for many people to be about, and Gretel did not meet a single person between her brother’s house and the little country station, which she remembered having passed in the motor-car the evening before. The station was closed and locked, and she was beginning to wonder what she should do next when a train came puffing up to the platform. Gretel sprang forward eagerly, her poor little heart pounding so that she could scarcely breathe.