Elsie walked along beside the others in silence; she was dying to say something, but was afraid to speak. Brian's statement that the knife blade must have been reduced by grinding or rubbing on a stone had at once reminded her of her midnight, or, rather, early morning adventure. Could it have been this poultry-carver that the mysterious intruder was working at when she had awoke and seen the faint light in the tool-house? She longed to hazard the suggestion, but Guy and Ida had already made so much fun of her story that she feared to mention the subject again lest it should occasion a fresh teasing.
The children found Mr. and Mrs. Ormond in the hall, just preparing to start out for a walk.
"Mother, we've found the carving-knife!" cried Guy. "'Twas at the bottom of the pond."
With three people all assisting one another in the telling, the story did not take long to relate. Mr. and Mrs. Ormond seemed equally astonished.
"Look, uncle, how thin it is," said Brian. "It must have been ground down carefully on a stone."
"So I see," was the answer. "It's very extraordinary."
"Most extraordinary," echoed Mrs. Ormond. "Then, who could have thrown it into the pond?—Guy, are you sure you know nothing about it?"
"Quite sure, mother."
"I don't like to doubt the honesty of that boy Henry," began Mr. Ormond, "but the thought has just occurred to me that he might, when he was cleaning the knives, have tried to put an edge on this one, and ground it too much; then, being afraid to bring it back to the house, have thrown it into the pond."
"Oh, I don't think that," answered Mrs. Ormond. "I'm quite sure Henry's honest. I asked him about the knife, and he said he never remembered having seen it; in fact, as I said before, I don't think he's had it to clean since he's been here."