"The oracle was either the answer itself, or the god who was supposed to give it, or the place where it was given; and there were different ways of managing. At one place the priest hid himself in the hollow body or among the branches of an oak tree, and the people thought the tree spoke to them. Sometimes the oracle was delivered by a woman who pretended to be put into a kind of fit--tearing her hair and beating her breast." "But suppose the oracle made a mistake?--what would the people think then?" "The answers were generally contrived so that they would seem to come true in any event." "I don't see how they could do that," said Ellen. "Very well--just imagine that I am an oracle, and come to me with some question; I'll answer you." "But you can't tell what's going to happen?" "No matter--you ask me truly and I'll answer you oracularly." "That means, like an oracle, I suppose!" said Ellen. "Well--Mr. John, will Alice be pleased with what I am going to give her for her New Year?" "She will be pleased with what she will receive on that day." "Ah, but," said Ellen, laughing, "that isn't fair; you haven't answered me; perhaps somebody else will give her something, and then she might be pleased with that and not with mine." "Exactly--but the oracle never means to be understood." "Well, I won't come to you," said Ellen. "I don't like such answers. Now for the needle-book!" Breathlessly she looked on while the skilful pen did its work; and her exclamations of delight and admiration when the first cover was handed to her were not loud but deep. "It will do, then, will it? Now, let us see--'From her dear little daughter,' there--now 'Ellen Chauncey' I suppose must be in hieroglyphics." "In what?" said Ellen. "I mean written in some difficult character." "Yes," said Ellen. "But what was that you said?" "Hieroglyphics!" Ellen added no more, though she was not satisfied. He looked up and smiled. "Do you want to know what that means?" "Yes, if you please," said Ellen. The pen was laid down while he explained, to a most eager little listener. Even the great business of the moment was forgotten. From hieroglyphics they went to the pyramids; and Ellen had got to the top of one and was enjoying the prospect (in imagination), when she suddenly came down to tell John of her stuffed stocking and its contents. The pen went on again, and came to the end of the writing by the time Ellen had got to the toe of the stocking. "Wasn't it very strange they should give me so many things?" said she; "people that don't know me?" "Why, no," said John, smiling, "I cannot say I think it was _very_ strange. Is this all the business you had for my hands?" "This is all; and I am _very_ much obliged to you, Mr. John." Her grateful affectionate eye said much more, and he felt well paid.