Sally had often seen the little trunk, which was always kept under Mistress Brace's bed tightly locked. She must have made a great mistake in leaving it open, Sally thought.
She felt for a moment that it would not be quite right to take a peep inside the trunk.
"It does not seem proper," said the Fairy.
"I will take but a peep," Sally replied.
She was so afraid the good Fairy might try to stop her that she hurried over to the bed and stooped down.
Ah, what a delicate, tasteful muslin cape was folded away! And there were letters in one corner. Sally spelled them over, and thought they made a name, but if so it was a strange one. There lay a letter.
"Oh, no, no!" cried the Fairy, as Sally took it in her hands.
"I will take but a teeny-weeny peep, good Fairy," said Sally, "but I feel as though it might be as well for me to see some things that I will never be told of."
But the letter gave no light to Maid Sally. Only toward the end she read: "I have done my best, but my health is failing. Should I not live there will be something for the one I leave." Then there was that strange name again at the very end, the same as was on the cape. Sally spelled it over and over, merely because it was so curious.
Goodman Kellar was moving away, and Sally ran softly to her room.