erself walk on, no one would be left to tell
the rest when they should come up to the carryall. They might go on
so, through the whole journey, without meeting, and she might not be
missed till they should reach her grandfather's!

Horrible thought! She would be left here alone all day. The expressman
would come, but the expressman would go, for he would not be able to
get into the house!

She thought of the terrible story of Ginevra, of the bride who was
shut up in her trunk, and forever! She was shut up on hers, and knew
not when she should be released! She had acted once in the ballad of
the "Mistletoe Bough." She had been one of the "guests," who had sung
"Oh, the Mistletoe Bough!" and had looked up at it, and she had seen
at the side-scenes how the bride had laughingly stepped into the
trunk. But the trunk then was only a make-believe of some boards in
front of a sofa, and this was a stern reality.

[Illustration]

It would be late now before her family would reach her grandfather's.
Perhaps they would decide to spend the night. Perhaps they would fancy
she was coming by express. She gave another tremendous effort to move
the trunk toward the door. In vain. All was still.

[Illustration]

Meanwhile, Mrs. Peterkin sat some time at the door, wondering why
Elizabeth Eliza did not come down. Mr. Peterkin had started on, with
Solomon John and all the little boys. Agamemnon had packed the things
into the carriage,--a basket of lunch, a change of shoes for Mr.
Peterkin, some extra wraps,--everything that Mrs. Peterkin could think
of for the family comfort. Still Elizabeth Eliza did not come. "I
think she must have walked on with your father," she said, at last;
"you had better get in." Agamemnon now got in. "I should think she
would have mentioned it," she continued; "but we may as well start on,
and pick her up!" They started off. "I hope Elizabeth Eliza thought to
speak to Amanda, but we must ask her when we come up with her."

But they did not come up with Elizabeth Eliza. At the turn beyond the
village they found an envelope stuck up in an inviting manner against
a tree. In this way they had agreed to leave missives for each other
as they passed on. This note informed them that the walking party was
going to take the short cut across the meadows, and would still be in
front of them. They saw the party at last, just beyond the short cut;
but Mr. Peterkin was explaining the character of the oak-tree to his
chil