"Perhaps I had better do that," answered Bab, reaching for the pencil. "I know the writing better than you do and I want to make the copy exactly like the original. There," she added, after having carefully copied the extract from the journal.
Olive regarded it perplexedly, Grace, Mollie and Ruth bending over her shoulder as she read and reread the extract from the old Presby diary.
"I must show this to father and mother," exclaimed Olive suddenly, as she whisked out of the room with Ruth, Mollie and Grace racing after her. Barbara, once more absorbed in the journal over which she was bending with wrinkled forehead, did not seem to realize that she had been left alone.
"Oh, if it should be true! If it should lead us to the treasure! If we could save Treasureholme for the Presbys it would be glorious." Barbara got up and began pacing back and forth. She saw nothing of the dingy garret room. Her imagination was traveling at express-train speed. Bab stood leaning back against the heavy wainscoting, with her eyes fixed on the ceiling, thinking.
"Oh, Barbara!" called Ruth's voice from the foot of the stairway.
"Yes?"
"Come down. Mercy! What was that?" A mighty crash shook the old house to its foundations. The shock seemed to come from above. Ruth sped up the stairs on winged feet. Those below stairs heard her utter a frightened scream.
"Come! Oh, come quickly!" cried Ruth Stuart in a voice of terror.