THE OLD CHEST.
"What could be the wealth the casket held?...
Perhaps the red gold nestled there,
Loving and close as in the mine;
Or diamonds lit the sunless air,
Or rubies blushed like bridal wine.
Some giant gem, like that which bought
The half of a realm in Timour's day,
Might here, beyond temptation's thought,
Be hidden in safety; who could say?"
Henry Morford.
Marjory obtained permission from her uncle to invite Blanche and Alan to spend the next day with her. It would be the last before the arrival of the unwished-for visitors, and they wanted to make the most of it. They decided to have a rat hunt in the morning, and in the afternoon Marjory intended to ask the doctor if they might try again to open the old chest. She thought Alan might be a help.
Marjory did not much like the idea of killing even a rat. She was not quite sure that it was right, but Peter had no such compunctions.
"Vermin o' the land, an' mischeevious reptiles they are, an' the mair deid rats we see the morn's mornin' the better pleased Peter'll be," said the old man as they were planning the hunt.
Alan kept a ferret, which he offered to bring, and he thought he could borrow his brother Herbert's fox-terrier, which was a famous ratter.
"That's a' richt," agreed the old man. "An' I can get the loan o' anither dog frae the village, an' atween them a' they should create a bit disturbance amang they lang-tailed rascals."
Alan looked at Marjory and grinned, remembering yesterday's conversation.
Poor Peter's heart had been sorely tried by the depredations of his long-tailed enemies. The hen-house, the barn, even the apple storehouse had been visited by them with disastrous results, so he rejoiced at the prospect of the coming conflict. The next morning, a stout stick in his hand and war in his eye, he stood awaiting the arrival of the party. Silky had been tied up, so that the ratters might have a clear field for action.
Marjory went down the hill to meet Blanche, and they arrived upon the scene just as Alan, punctual to the appointed time, came up with his ferret in a small bag, and his brother's dog, Jock, on a leash.
"He's awfully keen," Alan explained. "He only had half his usual last night, and nothing this morning; so I put him on the leash in case he might go tearing off after some rabbit, and I couldn't get him back again."
There was some hitch about getting the other dog; it could not be found when the time came. Alan was secretly pleased that Jock should have to fight single-handed, for then all the honour and glory would fall to his share.
As for Jock, he was indeed keen. He seemed to know that there was excitement in store for him, and he was pulling and straining at the leash, jumping up and down, and giving little short yelps and barks.
"We'll try the barn first," ordered Peter, the commander-in-chief.
Alan handed Jock over to Marjory, and they went to the barn as directed. Alan put his ferret into a well-used hole.
"Let go!" he shouted to Marjory.
Jock was let loose, and the fun began. It was a most exciting time—scratching, scrambling, racing, leaping. In and out of barns and outbuildings went Jock, his heart in his work. The ferret, too, did his duty quite nobly. The spectators, waving their sticks and shouting encouragement, ran and scrambled too.
Old Peter, capless, his hair and beard streaming in the wind, danced and capered like a boy whenever Jock appeared victoriously shaking a rat between his teeth. The girls, too, kept in the thick of the fight, Marjory forgetting all her doubts in the excitement of the moment.
One very large rat gave Jock a great deal of trouble. In and out of the barn it went, Jock in full cry after it, through the hen-run, scattering the flustered fowls screeching in all directions, round and round the yard it leaped rather than ran. At last it ran up the side of a large empty barrel and went over the edge in a second. Quick as thought Jock sprang after it; then came a terrific scrambling and scratching, a vicious scream from the rat, a yelp of pain from Jock, and, last, a moment's silence before the scrambling was renewed. They all went and peeped over the edge of the barrel, and there was Jock with the big rat in his mouth, making frantic efforts to scale the sides of his prison.
"Well done," shouted Alan in delight. "Isn't he a game little beast?" And he stretched over the top to give Jock a lift.
In his efforts to reach the dog he overbalanced, the barrel tipped over and rolled from side to side, and for a few minutes all that could be seen was a kicking tangle of boy, dog, and rat, for Jock would not let go his prey.
Peter stood shouting with laughter, holding his sides, and quite helpless, and the two girls were much in the same condition. Marjory was just trying as best she could to stop the barrel rolling and to help Alan out of it, though she was so weak with laughing that her hands seemed to have no strength in them, when the doctor's voice said, "Come, children, didn't you hear the dinner-bell?"
They all, including Peter, straightened up as if by magic. Dinner already! They had never given it a thought. They stood irresolute, a queer-looking company, while Jock glanced around the group, as much as to say, "What's the matter with you all? Just look at my lovely rat."
The doctor stood leaning on his stick, contemplating his guests. Alan was the worst. His face was scratched, and blood and dust together had streaked it in a most unbecoming way; his clothes were torn, his cap was gone, and his never very tidy hair stood in a shock above his forehead. The girls, too, showed unmistakable signs of the fray. Their hair ribbons were gone, wisps of straw and hay were sticking to their clothes, and their cheeks were scarlet with exercise and excitement. Even Jock had one eye bunged up, but he was the coolest and most unconcerned of the party. He saved the situation by trotting across to the doctor, laying the rat at his feet, and then looking up at him with his only available eye, as if for approval.
The doctor could not resist this appeal. He stooped and patted the dog, saying kindly, "Well done, little man." And then turning to the children, "Now then, you three graces, be off with you. Go and wash yourselves clean, if you can, and don't keep me waiting any longer for my dinner. A hungry man's an angry man, you know." And he sent them off with a flourish of his stick.
When they came to the dining-room the change in their appearance caused the doctor's eyes to twinkle, but he made no remark. Alan's face positively shone with soap, for though the application of it had made his many scratches smart, he had manfully persisted in the most vigorous cleansing operations. He had soaked his hair with water to make it lie down, but there was one lock in the region of the crown of his head which had refused to accept his ministrations. The girls, too, had smoothed their hair, brushed their clothes, and composed their countenances. All three looked as solemn as judges as they took their seats.
Marjory was afraid that their unpunctuality boded ill for the chance of getting the doctor's consent to their trying to open the old chest. They sat demurely, taking their soup in silence. After a little while sounds were heard like the fizzling of ginger beer in hot weather, and at last Blanche burst into a peal of laughter. Marjory looked anxiously at Dr. Hunter to see what he thought of this disturbance, but to her relief and surprise he was laughing too. Really her Uncle George was getting much nicer than he used to be, she thought.
"Well, Blanche, what's the joke?" he asked.
As soon as she could speak she replied,—
"It's Alan; he does look so dreadfully funny—one bit of hair sticking up, and the rest all plastered so smooth and meek-looking, and his face—oh dear!" And she laughed again. "I'm sure he was never meant to look so solemn."
Alan instinctively put up his hand to try to persuade the offending lock of hair to keep its proper place, but as soon as he took away his hand up jumped the hair again. He blushed deeply, realizing that the attention of the party, and especially of the doctor, who, to him, was a most awesome personage, was fixed upon himself; but in the end he joined in the laugh against his appearance as heartily as the rest.
Thus the ice was broken, and conversation began to flow, soon developing into a graphic account of the rat hunt.
"I saw Peter careering about like a youngster," said the doctor, laughing. "He'll be sorry enough to-morrow when he's as stiff as a board, but I believe he enjoyed the fun as much as any of you." And he laughed again.
Marjory thought that this would be a good opportunity for her to make her request.
"May we try again to open the chest, please, uncle?" she asked.
"What chest, child?"
"Why, the oak chest in the old wing. We do so want to see what's in it."
"Nonsense, Marjory. I tell you it has been there ever since I can remember, and there's nothing in it as far as I know." Seeing the disappointment in the young people's faces as he said this, he relented, saying, "Well, well, I suppose I must let you have your way. You may try if you like, but I won't have you using any tools. It's a fine old piece of wood, and I don't want it spoiled."
They readily promised not to do any harm to the box, and as soon as dinner was over they hurried off to the old part of the house, Alan feeling rather flattered by Marjory's suggestion that he might be able to find some way of opening the chest.
There was no sign of any lock except the one in front, which they had tried before, and in which none of the keys would turn. The lid fitted firmly and smoothly, and so tightly that its joining with the box was hardly visible. It was a magnificent specimen of cabinet work.
"Of course it may have a spring," said Marjory, "if only we knew where to find it."
At this suggestion they all set to work to push and thump and press, but as before their efforts were of no avail.
Marjory wondered to herself whether the same ingenious person who had contrived the secret door upstairs might have made this box.
"Suppose we turn it round, and see what the hinges look like," said Alan.
They managed to drag it out from the wall, bringing with it masses of black cobwebs and the dust of many years.
Alan's idea was a good one; but there were no hinges to be seen.
"I believe the lock and the hasps are nothing but false ones to put people off the scent," said Alan. "What a beastly mess," rubbing the cobwebs off his hands on to his knickerbockers. "I believe this is a puzzle chest, and it opens in some secret way like Mrs. Shaw's box. We're having quite a run of secrets."
How Blanche longed to tell Alan of the room upstairs! It was all she could do to prevent herself from speaking of it.
Hot and breathless from their efforts in moving the box, the three sat down to rest and to consult as to their next attempt.
"I don't believe there is a lock at all," Alan repeated, and he began once more to examine the lid of the chest. After some little time he suddenly exclaimed, "I believe I've got it; look here!" He showed the girls that the construction of the lid at two of the corners was slightly different from the other two. "It's something to do with these corners, I'll be bound," he cried excitedly. "Here it comes!"
The girls looked on with intense interest. The big brass nails at the two corners came out, it seemed, and one side of the lid came right off. The row of nails all round the rest of it were long enough to go through the depth of it, and they fitted into corresponding holes in the box itself, so that once the one side was undone the whole thing simply lifted off. It was a most ingenious contrivance, and calculated to baffle even the most clever and curious person.
The girls danced with excitement when they saw that, far from being empty, the trunk had all sorts of things in it. They had been very neatly and carefully packed amongst layers of paper. First came some dresses, amongst them a lilac-flowered muslin, which Marjory recognized as the very one which her great-grandmother Hunter wore in the big picture which hung in the drawing-room. It had probably been kept for that reason. The dress did not seem to have suffered very much from its long imprisonment. The ground of it had turned yellow, but the lilac flowers were as fresh as ever. It was made entirely by hand, and it had a very short-waisted bodice and a frilled skirt. Rolled up with it was a pair of silk stockings and some dainty satin shoes, all yellow with age.
With a feeling of awe the girls unfolded these treasures of a bygone day, as if they feared lest the owners of them might rise up and forbid them to go on.
"Fancy uncle never knowing that all these lovely things were here!" cried Marjory. "Oh, what's this?" as she lifted out a bundle wrapped in linen.
"I believe it's somebody's wedding-dress," said Blanche, as she helped to undo the wrappings.
It was a wedding dress, and there was a veil with it, and a wreath of myrtle. Fastened to the wreath with white ribbon was a lace-edged paper, with the following words written on it in a fine Italian hand, "Alison Grant married John Hunter, October 15, 1843."
"That's my grandmother," said Marjory. "Uncle George says she was very beautiful and very good. I expect she must have put all these things here. It seems funny, though, that she put her wedding dress away when it was quite fresh; it doesn't look as if it had been worn."
"Perhaps she meant to keep it for her daughter," suggested Blanche. "Old-fashioned people used to do that. My mother didn't. She wore hers when she went to parties, and then had it dyed and made into a petticoat!"
"My mother was the only girl of the family who lived to grow up, and grandmother died when she was a little girl, so of course nobody knew about the dress being here."
Alan was more interested in the next find, which was a complete court suit—silk stockings, buckled shoes, and all. Then came an old uniform, moth-eaten long before Dame Alison's careful hands had folded it away. Its gold lace was tarnished almost beyond recognition, and on it was a label written in the same delicate handwriting, "Worn by General James Hunter at the battle of Waterloo, June 18, 1815, where he was mortally wounded."
"Isn't it ripping?" exclaimed Alan. "I should have liked to see the old chap who wore this."
At the bottom of the chest were some fencing-sticks, a couple of old pistols, a box with some tarnished medals once the pride of a soldier's heart, a bundle of letters, and, last of all, a worn portfolio tied with ribbon; and inside was written, in the handwriting of Alison Hunter, Marjory's grandmother, "Chronicles of the Hunter family." She had evidently meant to arrange them in book form some day. There were old letters, newspaper cuttings, and a genealogical tree traced in the same fine hand. Inside the sheet of paper containing this there was another paper which appeared to have verses of some sort written on it. The light was growing dim, and Marjory could hardly decipher the words, "Copied from the County Records at Corrisdale Castle, through the kindness of Sir Alexander Reid, being ancient prophecies concerning the Hunter family."
Here indeed was a find. This piece of paper appealed more to Marjory's imagination than did the dresses or even the uniform. What a pity it was getting so dark! It must be near tea-time, and they must put away the things. They did so very reluctantly, laying them all back as they had found them, with the exception of the portfolio, which Marjory determined to carry off to her bedroom, where she could read its contents at her leisure. Alan showed her how to fix the lid of the box on again, and exactly how to undo the nails in order to take it off. Regretfully they left their treasure trove and went to tea.
Dr. Hunter did not appear until Mr. Forester came to fetch Blanche; but when he did come he was overwhelmed by excited descriptions of the wonders that had been found in the old chest.
As he and Blanche were leaving, Mr. Forester remarked, "Our fellows had a bit of a brush with a man the other night," with a meaning look at Marjory; "but he managed to give them the slip somehow, and made off, the thieving rascal."
Marjory coloured, but said nothing, and the doctor remarked cheerfully, "Well, well, he'll live to fight another day."
"Yes, and to poach too," said Mr. Forester good-humouredly. "I begin to think that Hunters' Brae favours these fellows," he called over his shoulder as he left the house with Blanche and Alan.
"Perhaps he's right—eh, Marjory?" asked the doctor in a bantering tone as he shut the door.
"He wasn't a poacher," declared Marjory stoutly; and then, realizing what a slip she had made, she bit her lip and coloured again.
"Oh, ho! then there was a man," said her uncle quickly. "The cat's out of the bag now. Ah, Marjory, there's no mistaking you for anything but a Hunter; it's in the blood, my dear. Good-night." And he went laughing to his study.
Marjory was very grateful to her uncle for his trust in her with regard to her escapade, and felt much relieved that even to-night, when the subject was revived by Mr. Forester, he had not questioned her. It made her feel that she could never wish to deceive him or to abuse his confidence.