October 17, 2009

The Little Engine That Could swung from the roof of the carriage house up and onto the roof of the East Wing.

“I thought I could,” she murmured to herself.

In the midnight stillness, she rolled inch by inch until she looked directly down on Lady Beverington’s balcony.

“I think I can,” she steam hiss whispered.

Very carefully, she hung by her cowcatcher for a long moment before dropping to the balcony with a muffled clank. She froze, waiting to see if the muffled clank had disturbed Lady Beverington’s sleep. Minutes passed. Silence. The Little Engine That Could tenderly pushed wide the half open door to the bedroom and entered. Scarcely breathing, she made her way to the wall safe, quietly steamed it open, and stole the jewels. She retraced her wheel ruts to the balcony, where she nimbly swung herself once more to the roof. A short roll later, she dropped first to the carriage house roof, then to the ground. Stealthily she made for the tracks beyond the southern border of the estate.

“Piece of cake,” she exulted after gaining the tracks and fleeing east to a rendezvous with her fence, the pasture fence at Miller’s farm.


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