Sure enough. The round roll proved to be a banner, fastened to a slender brass rod, and finished with a fringe of bright little stars. There was a spray of blue forget-me-nots painted upon it, and as Rose held it up in the sunlight, both girls declared that it was very beautiful indeed.
“Isn’t aunt Alice lovely to send me this,” cried Rose, after they had examined it to their full satisfaction. “But I can’t see how it’s an answer to my letter.”
“Maybe this is the answer,” said Priscilla, taking up the other package. “See, it’s just sheets of paper, fastened together, and lots of writing on them.”
“Yes,” said Rose, “it’s a letter. Why, no it isn’t,” she added. “Oh goody! goody! it’s a story! aunt Alice does tell splendid stories, but I never thought of her writing one. Come, let’s read it.”
The pages of the paper were neatly fastened together, and every word was so plainly written that the two girls could easily read them.
Rose began as follows:
THE PERFUMED MANTLE.
Long ago, in a small village whose cottages clustered upon a mountain slope, a great number of people had come together to celebrate a fair which was held each year for the benefit of that district.
Some had come to sell and some to buy, but many were there for pleasure only. Hucksters and villagers, peasants, and venders of trinkets, or of useful articles—all were there in bustling confusion.
Among the crowd had come a man whom no one could recollect having seen before, and yet he spoke to each whom he met, calling him by name. His manner was dignified, quiet and gentle, and he said that he came neither to buy nor sell, but that he had a wonderful cloak which he would give for the asking. He said, moreover, that it was the safeguard which all travellers wore who journeyed to the Pleasant Land.