Very pleasant were the four fresh young voices, and the elders listened gladly to their music.
In the middle of a song, Patty stopped, and sat bolt upright, her eyes staring at a door opposite her as if she had never seen it before.
“Gracious, goodness! Patty,” said Mabel, “what is the matter?”
“What is it, little one?” said Sinclair, still humming the refrain of the interrupted song.
Patty pointed to the door, or rather to the elaborately carved door frame, and said slowly, “I’ve been reading a lot in the old architecture books—and they often used to have secret hiding places in the walls. And look at that door frame! There’s an angry griffin on one jamb, and a smiling griffin on the other, and under each is a rose. That is it’s a five-leafed blossom, a sort of conventional flower that they always call a rose in architecture.”
“Though I suppose,” said Sinclair, “by any other name it would look as sweet. Patty, my child, you’re dreaming. That old carving is as solid as Gibraltar and that old griffin isn’t very angry anyway. He just looks rather purse proud and haughty.”
“But it’s the only griffin that’s near a rose,” persisted Patty. “And he is angry, compared to the happy-looking griffin opposite to him.”
“I believe the girl is right,” said Bob, who was already examining the carvings in question. “The rose doesn’t look movable, exactly, but it is not quite like this other rose. It’s more deeply cut.”
By this time all had clustered about the door frame, and one after another poked and pushed at the wooden rose.
“There’s something in it,” persisted Bob. “In the idea, I mean. If there’s a secret hiding-place in that upright carved beam, that rose is the key to it. See how deeply it’s cut in, compared to the other; and I can almost see a crack all round it, as if it could be removed. May I try to get it out, Grandy?”