Phyl lifted her poor little golden head. “We were looking for the lost will,” she whispered.
“The what?” said the mother, mystified.
“The will that is hidden,” whispered Phyl.
“But there isn’t such a thing,” the mother said; “it was safely put away in father’s desk; the day uncle and Mr. Bright and all those people came it was read.”
“But the other will,” said Dolly, “the one that was made before, leaving lots of money to you.”
“My little sweethearts,” said the mother wearily, “what is it you mean? I can’t understand you in the least.”
Phyl made an effort to be intelligible. “We thought,” she said, “if we found another will that we needn’t be poor at all. People often hide them in strange places, behind wainscotching and secret panels and things, or in the loose covers of books. We’ve looked in all the other rooms, but we thought it was most likely to be here, so—so we looked.”
The mother, with all the calls there had been on her time, had no idea of the miscellaneous reading of her daughters; she would have been amazed to know of the scores of stories they had read in Harriet’s Bow Bells, and Young Ladies’ Magazines, and Penny Weeklies. Of course, therefore, they were acquainted with all the delightful ways lost wills were discovered [80] ]in strange hiding-places, and immense properties thereby restored to the heroes and heroines of the tales.
“Very likely there’s a secret back to father’s desk,” Dolly said; “won’t you please look, mama? we
didn’t like to touch that.”