“Strange, I’ve never before heard such a name,” said Bára; and Elška continued:
“Hynek offered to write letters for her to me. She wouldn’t write oftener than once a year, but he urges her to always send some message. Uncle has been much surprised that Auntie writes so often.”
“And how about it, when your uncle reads the letters?”
“Oh, my dear, we have that part all planned out. We write in such a way that no one can understand excepting we alone.”
“After all, it’s a fine thing when a person is accomplished. I’d never be able to do it.”
“Oh, you’d learn that easily enough,” said Elška. They had just reached the cottage, and she took both of Bára’s hands and, looking with clear eyes into Bára’s face, she said: “You can’t even believe how much better and freer I feel now, as if a stone had fallen from my heart. Now I can talk to you about him. But,” she added with a confidential tone in her voice, “you, Bára, have you nothing to tell me?”
“I?” stammered Bára, and her large eyes dropped. “I—nothing!”
“Just a little word?” "Nothing, Elška, nothing. Mere dreams!”
“Tell them to me, then!”
“Some other time!’ Bára shook her head, slipped her hands out of Elška’s grasp and, pointing to the stable and the doghouse, concluded, “Look, Lišaj is
