"Very well just imagine that I am an oracle, and come to me with some question; I'll answer you."
"But you can't tell what's going to happen?"
"No matter you ask me truly, and I'll answer you oracularly."
"That means, like an oracle, I suppose?" said Ellen. "Well, Mr. John, will Alice be pleased with what I am going to give her New Year?"
"She will be pleased with what she will receive on that day."
"Ah, but," said Ellen, laughing, "that isn't fair; you haven't answered me; perhaps somebody else will give her something, and then she might be pleased with that, and not with mine."
"Exactly but the oracle never means to be understood."
"Well, I won't come to you," said Ellen. "I don't like such answers. Now for the needlebook!"
Breathlessly she looked on while the skilful pen did its work; and her exclamations of delight and admiration when the first cover was handed to her were not loud but deep.
"It will do, then, will it? Now let us see 'From her dear little daughter' there; now, 'Ellen Chauncey,' I suppose, must be in hieroglyphics."