"Come here a minute."
In three days the incident of the grindstone had been almost forgotten, and Elsie was no longer troubled by any more of Guy's chaff on the subject of her night alarm. At the present moment she was standing in her father's library, and had called to her cousin, who happened to be passing outside in the passage.
"Well, what d'you want?" he repeated as he entered the room.
"Look!" said Elsie, pointing with her finger; "only two more days, and it'll be time to open that. Aren't you longing to know what's inside?"
The object in question stood stowed away in a dark corner of the room, and the children all knew its history. It was an oak box or small chest, dark with age and strongly bound with bands of iron; the panels were ornamented with rough carvings of dragons and other curious beasts, and where the iron clamps met they were secured with good-sized padlocks.
This box had stood in its present position ever since the children could remember, and, indeed, it had been there before even Ida, the eldest of the three, was born. It had been left to Mr. Ormond by an eccentric old relative, who had given special instructions in his will that the chest should not be opened for twenty years after the date of his death. The children were never tired of speculating as to what would be found in "Uncle Roger's Box," as it was called; and of late their interest in the legacy had steadily increased as the time drew near when the riddle would at last be answered.
"Father says he is going to open it on Thursday morning," continued Elsie. "November the third; that's the exact date. I say, Brian, what d'you think's inside?"
"I'm sure I don't know," answered the boy, laughing. "Old clothes, perhaps."
"Oh, no; it's sure to be something valuable. Just fancy—it hasn't been opened for twenty years! T-w-e-n-t-y years! That's twice as long as the whole of my life!"