“No; but,” said Edred, “we ought to have. Suppose the treasure is really those jewels. We’d sell them and rebuild Arden Castle like it used to be, wouldn’t we?”
“We’d give Auntie Edith a few jewels, I think, wouldn’t we? She is such a dear, you know.”
“Yes; she should have first choice. I do believe we’re on the brink, and I feel just exactly like as if something real was going to happen—not in history, but here at Arden—Now-Arden.”
“I do hope we find the jewels,” said Elfrida. “Oh, I do! And I do hope we manage the lively young girl all right.”
Mrs. Honeysett’s best dress was a nice bright red—the kind of colour you can see a long way off. They watched it till it disappeared round a shoulder of the downs, and then set about the task of managing Emily.
The lively young girl proved quite easy to manage. The idea of “popping on her hat” and running down to the station was naturally much pleasanter to her than the idea of washing the plates that had been used for beefsteak pudding and gooseberry-pie, and then giving the kitchen a thorough scrub out—which was the way Mrs. Honeysett had meant her to spend the afternoon.
Her best dress—she had slipped the skirt over her print gown so as to look smart as she came up through the village—was a vivid violet, another good distance colour. It also was watched till it dipped into the lane.
“And now,” cried Elfrida, “we’re all alone, and we can explore the great secret!”
“But suppose somebody comes,” said Edred, “and interrupts, and finds it out, and grabs the jewels, and all is lost. There’s tramps, you know, and gipsy-women with baskets.”
“Yes—or drink of water, or to ask the time. I’ll tell you what—we’ll lock up the doors, back and front.”