"Can't we go up attic?" questioned Polly. "You said, the other day, there was an attic to—"
"I hain't got nothin' up there," Mrs. Bean broke in, with flaming face.
"Will you allow us to look through it, please?" The lawyer's voice was low, but tense.
"There ain't no call for you to go paradin' up there," she snapped. "Pretty how d' y' do, if you can't take my word for it!"
"It is an easy matter to be mistaken," Mr. Brewster smiled. "Have you a key to the apartment? Or is it open?"
Mrs. Bean took time for reply, narrowing her eyes, as if in deep thought. She was quick to see the loophole of escape which the lawyer had shown her. Still she hesitated.
"Wal," she muttered finally, "it's barely possible I was thinkin' o' some other trunks; but I don't b'lieve I was. I do' know; I'm driven to death. I sh'd think I'd forgit my own name, slavin' 's I have to! 'T won't do no hurt, I s'pose, for you to go up an' see."
The trunks were found, as Mr. Brewster had been sure they would be. He opened both, and he and Polly hastily looked over their contents. Besides bundles of old letters, photographs, and numerous little mementoes, there was much of value,—fine table and bed linen, and silk dress, some exquisite laces, and a little box of odd pieces of jewelry.
"Oh!" Polly burst out, "I forgot grandma's watch! And mama's coral pin and her topaz ring!"
"They're downstairs," volunteered Mrs. Bean. "I forgot them, too!"