Jewellery? Bank-notes? Bags of money? What was it they beheld? None of these things, but only a bundle of papers, tied together with a piece of faded red tape.
"Well!" cried Ida, flushing with vexation, "I'll never hope for anything again!"
Guy picked up the bundle, and examined it more closely. The documents were all neatly folded, and were mostly docketed on the outside in heavy black writing. Some were of parchment; and one, he noticed, had in one corner three small red seals on a narrow strip of green ribbon.
"I wonder what these are!" said the boy. "Bah!" he added, holding the packet to his nose; "they smell musty enough. Let's take them in and show them to father."
Mr. Ormond had sat down to his tea, and seemed to have already dismissed Uncle Roger's box from his mind; the sight, however, of the children entering the room brought it back to his remembrance.
"Well," he said, jokingly, "have you found anything?"
"Nothing particular," answered Guy. "Only this old bundle of papers."
Mr. Ormond was in the act of raising his cup of tea to his lips; he paused, then lowered it without drinking.
"Papers!" he repeated, gazing at the packet with a puzzled look on his face. "What papers are they? Let me see."
"Oh, never mind about it now," said Mrs. Ormond. "Drink your tea while it's hot."