“Speak, somebody!” cried Patty, dancing about in excitement. “Isn’t there any angry griffin? There must be!”
“That’s the trouble,” said Mrs. Hartley; “there are so many of them. Why, there are angry griffins on the gates, over the lodge doors, on the marbles in the gardens, and all over the house.”
“Of course there are,” said Mabel. “You must have noticed them, Patty. There’s one now,” and she pointed to a bit of wood carving over the door frame of the room they were in.
“I don’t care! It means something, I know it does,” declared Patty. “We’ll work it out yet. I wish the boys were home.”
“They’ll soon be here,” said Mrs. Cromarty. “I can’t help thinking that it does mean something—Marmaduke was very fond of roses, and it would be just like him to plant a rosebush over his buried treasure.”
“That’s it,” cried Patty. “Now, where is there a rosebush growing, and one of the angry griffins near it?”
“There probably are some in the rose garden,” said Mrs. Cromarty. “I don’t remember any, though.”
“Come on, Mabel,” said Patty, “let’s go and look. I can’t wait another minute!”
Away flew the two girls, and for the next hour they hovered about the rosebushes with more energy than is often shown by the busiest of bees.
“I wish old Uncle Marmaduke had been less of a poet,” said Mabel, as they sat down a moment to rest, “and more of a—a——”