"I can't believe that anything has been stolen," said Mr. Ormond. "No; I think old Uncle Roger must have done it as a queer sort of joke. He was a strange old fellow."
"Well, it's a horrid, mean thing to do," cried Elsie, still half inclined to give way to tears. "It's perfectly hateful. Now we shall never have the pony."
The group continued to linger round the open box, as if still hoping that some treasure might be found.
"I think you'd better all come back into the warm room," said Mrs. Ormond. "It's very cold here.—Brian, will you put the box back in its old place? Some one may fall over it in the dark."
The boy prepared to do as he was asked.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "There is something in the old thing, after all."
"What?" cried all three of his cousins at once.
Brian laughed, and held up something between his finger and thumb. "A cork!" he answered.