“Dad’s parents came East when he was a little fellow, and, although he heard now and then of this aunt who had shut herself up in her mountain and sea-encircled home, neither he, nor any of the kin that he knew of, had really corresponded with her. She didn’t even know of my existence until last year and it was just the merest chance that she learned of it even then. It happened this way: You remember last winter in school when we girls had such a fad for looking up our family trees. Well, when I came home for the holidays, I asked Dad to tell me about every Pettes he could think of. It was a stormy night and we sat in the cosy library by the fireplace and I wrote down on a pad all the names and addresses he could recall. At last he came to this great-aunt. He just happened to think of her, and, girls, what if he hadn’t? I decided to write to each of these relatives, and, since Aunt Myra was the oldest living branch on the family tree, out of courtesy I began with her and sent her my picture, the one I had taken last May Day at school. I didn’t hear a word in reply, I wasn’t even sure that she had received it, until last week a legal-looking envelope arrived addressed to me. It contained the startling information I have just imparted.
“Well, as I said before, the will of my Dad’s Great-Aunt Myra is surely the queerest. One might think that the dear old lady was non compos mentis, but no, her attorney and servants report that up to the last her mind was sane and sound. Of course, I am glad, for, if she had not been mentally all right, the will, queer as it is, would have been null and void, and your Kindred Spirit would not be writing this thrilling epistle to tell you of her almost incomprehensible inheritance.
“The will, of course, is couched in high-sounding legal terms, and so I’ll just tell you the gist of it.
“‘I, Myra Pettes, do hereby will and bequeath one-half of my estate, located between the Sierra Padre Mountains and the sea, to Eleanor Pettes, the daughter of my grand-nephew, Oris Pettes, on condition that she never opens the locked door of the upper front room until she has found Hugh Ward, to whom I will and bequeath the other half of my estate. When he has been found, they are to enter the room together.’
“Did you ever hear of anything like that outside of a story-book? Of course, in a story queer things are to be expected, but in the humdrum life of a school girl one doesn’t anticipate occurrences so mysterious and exciting.
“Hugh Ward! Who in the world do you suppose he is? Dad says he never heard the name before, and even Great-Aunt Myra’s attorney reports that he has no knowledge whatever of the man, young or old. They have advertised in every paper in the country, but have had no reply. I suppose he is some very old gentleman whom my Aunt Myra knew when she was young. Perhaps we ought to hunt for him in a ‘home for the aged and infirm.’
“Well, be that as it may, I am supposed to go West and occupy my new possession; that is, all but the locked front room, and, since the housekeeper, in sending a description of the place, informs me that there are twenty rooms, ten of them being sleeping apartments, I presume I will be able to get along without entering the one that is locked. I don’t see how one lone-maiden can occupy ten bedrooms. Dad is obliged to go to Europe this month.
“Now harken and hear something which I think thrilling. Dad says I may invite you and Margaret and Babs and the brothers I have heard you tell about, Peyton and Malcolm, to accompany me when I visit my new estate. I’m to have the use of Dad’s private car. For once I’m glad he is a high-up railway official, and I’ll telegraph you at what hour we will side-track at Douglas. If you can accept, be there bag and baggage. I’m so excited I can hardly keep my feet on earth. Sometimes I feel as though I were going to spin away up in the air. Goodbye for now. I’ll telegraph tomorrow.
“Your K. S.\ \ \ \
“Eleanor.”
Virginia looked up with glowing eyes. “It sounds like magic, doesn’t it?” she inquired. “We wish for a place to go, in fact, we were wishing that we might go to this very California, and here is a letter inviting us to do so.”