"O, but it's too slow!" exclaimed Alfred, with an impatient shake of the head. "I am bound to them for three years more before I can make a start. It's preposterous! Never mind, I'll show them! I know a way."
"What way?" asked the old man suddenly, looking at his grandson.
"Never mind now," replied Alfred evasively. "You'll see by-and-by."
"There is but one way," observed the old man quietly--"the straight way. Alfred, go to the cupboard, and bring me a small iron box you will see there."
A sudden paleness came over Alfred's face.
"A small iron box, grandfather?" he echoed, with a curious indecision, and with a nervous trembling of the lips.
"Yes," said the old man sadly; "you know the box. You have seen it many times."
Alfred hesitated for one moment only, and then, as if much depended upon prompt action, walked swiftly to the cupboard, and taking out a small iron box, laid it before his grandfather. The old man took a key from his pocket, and put it into the lid, but did not turn the lock.
"I daresay," he said, slowly and distinctly, "you have often wondered what was in this little box. Every house, every family, has its skeleton. This box has contained ours."
"Why speak of it to-night, grandfather?" asked Alfred, nervously. "Surely it is time to go to bed. Leave this matter till to-morrow."