That person proved to be "Kitty Quixote," never more worthy of her name than as she sat in the forest dreaming marvellous dreams of the future; of wrongs to be righted, of poverty banished, and all dependent upon the unknown contents of a brass bound box. Under other circumstances she would have rejoiced to see Montgomery, as the only young creature of her own species yet met in Marsden, but not with this wonderful mystery upon her mind. When he had appropriated a full half of her boulder, uninvited, she waited a moment, then icily inquired:
"Where are you going?"
"N-n-n-nowhere."
"That's a good place. When?"
"Oh, b-b-bime-by," answered the lad, with easy indifference.
"You might be late," suggested Katharine, sweetly, yet inwardly longing to mimic his stammering speech.
Then, all at once, she began to slide. There had been no perceptible movement on Montgomery's part. Assuming an indifference as great as his own, Katharine had leaned forward to inspect her second shoe-string, and afterward attempting to regain her former uprightness, felt, instead, that she was slipping downward. She landed angrily upon her feet, and, facing about, she upbraided him as a "rude, unmannerly boy."
However, the mischief was done, her secret was out. Monty forgot his desire to "plague her" in his surprised curiosity. Bending over the box he examined it critically, and finally announced:
"T-t-that's the most b-b-beautifullest thing I ever saw. W-where'd you get it?"
"Found it. But it isn't mine. It's Aunt Eunice's, and I think you are horrid mean. I didn't want a person should know anything about it till I could put it into her own hands, and then you went and came. Now the whole charm of it is gone. Oh, dear!"