"Yes, I wonder too," said Ida, rather suspiciously. "And I wonder if you, Guy, could explain it if you chose."
"I explain it!" exclaimed the boy. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know you have done things like that," returned his sister calmly. "You smashed a big flower-pot the other day, and threw the pieces away into the hedge."
"Look here, Ida," cried Guy, with a great show of indignation. "You're always accusing me of doing things, and it's not fair. The other day you tried to make out I'd taken cook's methylated spirit when I said I hadn't. What's the good of a fellow telling the truth if he isn't believed?"
"Shall I tell you what I think about it?" asked Brian, looking up from the open book before him, with his finger at the spot where he had left off reading.
"Yes," was the reply.
"Well, the idea's come into my head that some one was grinding the knife that night when Elsie woke up and heard the stone turning."
Elsie clapped her hands with delight; her cousin's words were exactly what she herself had been longing to speak.
"That's just what I've been thinking, Brian!" she cried. "I'm sure that's right."
"What nonsense!" ejaculated Guy. "You never did hear any one working at the grindstone. It was a dream."