“If it were only nice and warm I could sit down in Bryant Park, and watch the children play,” she told herself, with a sigh. “Oh, I shall be glad when summer comes, only then fairy-land will be all shut up, and I can’t watch the people going in any more.”
Just then a fiercer gust than usual tore off her hat, and by the time she had caught it again, after an exciting chase of more than a block, she began to feel quite warm. Still, it was a relief when the sight of the big opera house assured her that she had almost reached home. There was only one more wide crossing, and then she would be safely indoors, away from the wind and dust.
She paused on the curb, waiting for a momentary lull in the long stream of cars and automobiles, and just at that moment something white came fluttering along the sidewalk, and rested at her feet.
“Why, it’s a letter,” said Gretel to herself, stooping to pick up the envelope; “somebody must have dropped it. No, it isn’t a letter either; it’s a ticket. Oh!” Gretel gave one great gasp, and in another second she was darting across the street, clutching a white envelope tightly in her hand.
Her heart was beating so fast when she entered the apartment-house that she could scarcely breathe. It was not until she had reached her own little room, unmolested and unquestioned, that she dared draw a long free breath. Then she sank down on the edge of the bed, and for the first time since that one hurried glance in the street, ventured to examine the contents of the soiled white envelope.
There was not much in the envelope; only one small, thin ticket, but if it had been a hundred-dollar bill Gretel could not have gazed upon it with greater awe. For it was nothing less than an admission to fairy-land.
“It’s for Saturday afternoon,” she said in a rapturous whisper; “it’s for ‘Lohengrin!’ Oh, how wonderful, how wonderful!”
In those first moments she had no other thought than that this wonderful thing had, by some unknown, wholly inexplicable chance, been sent to her. How it happened to be lying there on the sidewalk did not even occur to her. She kept repeating over to herself: “It’s mine; it’s really mine; nobody can take it away from me!”
She sat for some time, gazing at her treasure, with loving eyes. Then she rose, and went to the bureau.
“I must put it away very carefully,” she said to herself. “No one must know anything about it. If Mrs. Marsh knew she might not let me keep it; she might make me—”