“Hurry up and open them!” said Jensina. “Perhaps they’re to tell us where she is.”
“What’s this?” asked Poor Cecco, coming in from the garden, with Harlequin at his heels. “What’s happened?”
Bulka had torn open one of the letters, and there he read:
“Dear Bulka:
I love you more than everything and I will make you a big cake with ammons and Icing and Silver balls,
Your loving
- Tubby.
P.S. There will be candels on the Cake.
“Tubby loves me!” Bulka shouted, waving the letter over his head. “Tubby really loves me! She wrote it down!”
“Show us!” cried the dolls instantly.
“Indeed I won’t!” said Bulka. “It’s only written for me, so Hinksman!” And gathering all his letters together—an enormous armful—he hastened off to read them all alone by himself in the garden.
Jensina looked down at the green fragments that had lately been the Money-Pig.
“Do you suppose he’s dead?” she asked Poor Cecco in an awed voice.
“Very likely,” returned Poor Cecco. “If he is we’ll have a funeral, but there’s no time to see about that now. Come out, Jensina, and I’ll show you my trap!
