"I believe the blessed thing's empty!" cried the boy.
"I fancied I heard something sort of trickle about inside," said Elsie.
"Oh, you're always fancying something," said her brother. "You'll say the grindstone's in there next."
"I thought I heard something too," exclaimed Brian. "But it was only a very slight sound, such as a bit of loose wood might make—a chip, perhaps, from off the inside of the lid."
Guy lowered the box, and turned it up again. "I do hear something," he admitted. "It's a bit of wood, I expect. What a sell! I'm certain the box is empty."
"Oh, nonsense; you can't tell," answered Ida. "It may be quite full of something, and so tightly packed that the contents are wedged together, and can't shake about when you move the box. Uncle Roger would never have taken the trouble to seal the locks, and leave those instructions in his will, if it were just an empty box."
"Well, here goes," said Brian. "I'm going to put it back in its place again." And with these words he lifted the chest in his strong arms, and returned it to its old corner. Guy remained for a moment balancing himself on one foot.
"Let me see," he said; "what was it I meant to do? Oh, I know! Mend the ring in Bob's collar. He's always getting loose. First I must get the tweezers."
He ran off at once to find the tool, but on entering the kitchen was at once pounced upon by the cook. Sarah had been at the Pines for many years, and the young Ormonds had grown to regard her as quite one of the family.
"Now, Master Guy," she began, "what business had you got to go and take all my methylated spirit?"