“Inspiration!” Virginia laughingly responded. “Come along with me. I do believe I recall where I put the key to the code when I supposed Buddie and I were through with it forever. Are you a climber?”
“I don’t know. What will I have to climb?” asked the mystified Margaret. “I did climb a tree once and a ladder also. Which do you wish me to ascend now?”
Virginia was leading the way to the kitchen which was deserted at that hour. There she opened a door into a long, dark storeroom at one end of which was a straight up and down ladder made by the nailing of boards across uncovered uprights. Margaret looked up and saw a trap door in the ceiling. “Does that lead to your attic?” she inquired. Virginia was half way up the ladder, and, looking over her shoulder, she replied merrily. “Follow me and you shall see.”
CHAPTER XX—THE MESSAGE DECIPHERED.
It was indeed an old fashioned attic into which the two girls emerged. It was high in the middle and the sloping roof formed the sides.
“Where is your inspiration leading you?” Margaret inquired as she bent to follow Virginia into a dark cobwebby corner.
“It’s my old play trunk,” the western girl replied, “where I put all of my old castaway toys as I outgrew them, and so, what is more natural than that I should also have placed there the key to the code when I had outgrown it.” As she spoke Virginia was dragging a small dust-covered trunk, over near the window, which was the only opening through which light was coming.
The cover was lifted, revealing all sorts of play-things, dolls, books and mechanical toys.
“Oh, good!” Virginia exclaimed, joyfully. “Even if we don’t find the key to the code in here, how glad I am that I happened to remember this old trunk. What pleasure it will give to the Mahoy children. I will have someone carry it down and let them play with these things to their hearts’ content.” As she spoke she took from the trunk first one toy and then another. She did this eagerly, for time was flying and she well knew that she must find the code, but she seemed doomed to disappointment, for everything had been taken from the trunk and not a scrap of paper had been revealed. “How provoking!” she declared as she arose.
Margaret had picked up a queer old doll dressed in the costume of an early pioneer, when, from the folds of its print gingham dress, a yellow paper fluttered to the floor. With a cry of joy, Virginia pounced upon it. “Oh! Oh!” she exclaimed, “that dear old doll, Patience Putney has been keeping it for me all this time. Now we will begin to decipher my brother’s message. Goodness, I do hope it isn’t too late. Give me the doll, Megsy, I’ll take her downstairs and enthrone her in a place of honor to reward her for her faithful vigilance through all these years.”