a cigarette packet some one had thrown away, and dipping a twig into blackberry juice he began to write, while Jensina looked over his shoulder.
This is what he wrote, in a fine round hand:
THE-WOODEN-HOUSE-WITH-TWO-TREES-IN-FRONT
Left-hand corner of the road
Going to Strawberryville.
It looked very well when he had done, but Poor Cecco was still a little doubtful.
“Do you think he’ll find it?” he asked.
“Of course he’ll find it,” said Jensina. “That’s what he’s for. And now we must go and wait by the letters-box.”
So, Bulka being by now fairly tidy, Poor Cecco tucked the label under his arm, and with Jensina carrying her precious bundle they all three made their way under the pasture bars and back to the road. And sure enough, before they had gone very far, there was a grey box on a post by the roadside with R.F.D. written on it, just as Jensina had said.
“You see I was right!” she exclaimed. “Here is the
