Four Girls and a Compact | Page 8

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To the three girls waiting at the B-Hive came a letter. They read it, three heads in a bunch:
"Eldorado, June 26.
"Come whenever you want to. Directions enclosed."

CHAPTER III.
There was a postscript. It was like T.O. to put the most of the letter into the postscript.
"P.S.--Never call me the Talentless One again" (as if they ever had!), "when I came straight to the Eldorado--tumbled right into it. I've decided to stay here until you come--please tell my substitute so. I know she'll be so glad she'll throw up her hat. Bring your sheets and pillow-cases. Come by way of the X. & Y. R.R. to a place called Placid Pond."
The three readers, bunched together over the letter, uttered a cry of delight. "Placid Pond!"--of all the dear, delightful, placid names! The very look of it on paper was restful; it sounded restful when you said it over and over--"Placid Pond. Placid Pond. Placid Pond."
"Oh, she's a dear--she's an _artist!_" cried Laura Ann, who measured all things by their relationship to art. This was an own cousin!
"Read on--somebody hold the letter still!" Billy cried excitedly. And they read on: "Take the only road there is to take, and keep on to a house that's painted green. It will be Emmeline's house, though they might have named her Sophia, she says, by accident. But you will be glad she is Emmeline. She has a beautiful daughter that never was born and never will die--oh, girls, come as quick as ever you can!"
Yours, "The Talented One."
"P.S. No. 2.--Don't climb any stone walls. The stones are not stuck on."
For a tiny space the three girls looked at each other in silence. The letter in Loraine's hand was a masterpiece, full of enticing mysteries that beckoned to them to come and find the "answers." What kind of an Eldorado was this that was called Placid Pond, and was full of mysteries? How could they wait! They must pack up and go at once!
"'Talented One,' indeed!--she's a genius! See how she's left us to guess things, instead of explaining them all out in a nice, tame way--oh, _girls_"--Laura Ann's eyes shone--"won't we have the greatest time!"
"What I want to know is, who is Emmeline--"
"Yes, who is Emmeline?"
"And who can her daughter _be_? She sounds so lovely and ghostly!"
"Everything sounds lovely and ghostly. When can we go, girls?" This from practical Loraine. "I can't till after the Fourth."
"Nor I," groaned Billy, dolefully.
"I could, but I shall not--I shall wait for you two," Laura Ann said quietly.
Loraine turned upon her. "You needn't," she said, "now that you've signed the compact--you can do whatever you want to now, you know. Needn't think of anybody but yourself."
"The privilege of being selfish doesn't begin till we get to Eldorado," laughed Laura Ann. "You'll see what I do then!"
It was arranged that they should start on the fifth of July. "With our sheets and pillow-cases," appended Billy. No one thought of writing to T.O. for further particulars. No one wanted further particulars. The uncertainly and mystery that enveloped Eldorado was its greatest charm. They speculated, to be sure, at odd moments, as to the identity of the person who might have been Sophia but was Emmeline, and they wrestled a little with the hidden meaning of Postscript Number Two. Why were they especially bidden not to climb stone walls? And why was the Talented One "staying over" till they came?
"Why? Why? Why?" chanted Billy, "but don't anybody dare to guess why! Who wants to know!"
"Not me!" echoed ungrammatically Laura Ann.
While they waited and speculated mildly, and packed and repacked their things, T.O. lay on the bed in Emmeline Camp's little bedroom and winced with pain whenever she moved her wounded foot. But she was very happy. "Peace is in my soul, if not my _sole!_" she thought, a slave still to the punning habit. She had never been so peaceful in her life. The little old woman who had befriended her bustled happily in and out of the little bedroom. She bathed and rubbed the swollen ankle, and smiled and chattered to the girl at the other end of it. Her "lineaments" were working a cure, surely.
It had all been decided upon. The B-Hive was to be transplanted for the summer to the little, green-painted house trailed over with morning-glory vines and roses. Emmeline Camp had wanted, she said, for forty years, to go upon a long journey, to visit her brother. Here was her chance. The small sum she had at last consented to be paid for the use of her little house would pay her traveling expenses one way, at least, and John would be glad enough, she said, to pay her fare home, to get rid of her! Only she was quite able to pay it herself.
"I've kind of