"I can't say I was frightened; it seemed rather funny. Do come upstairs with me now. I must see what the man left behind."
Elinor followed Martine upstairs.
"Why, Martine, what is this?" she cried, raising the white skirt "It is—why, it must be the gown I lost Class Day—and this—it really is my trunk," and she gave Martine a severe glance as she bent toward a small trunk in the corner.
"Nonsense," cried Martine. "That is a skirt the burglar left, part of his 'booty,' as Angelina calls it, and this is one of our packing trunks. It has been here all summer."
"But it has my name on it," protested Elinor.
Martine shook her head. Elinor's manner reminded her of her manner on the day of their first meeting, and it annoyed her.
Nevertheless she bent down towards the label on the trunk.
"Don't look at me in that tone of voice," she said gayly, as she turned again toward her friend. "The label is certainly marked,
"Miss Elinor Naylor
The Belhaven, Boston
and now that I look at it closely I can see that this is not one of our trunks. But how did it come here, Angelina?"