"Fancy uncle never knowing that all these lovely things were here!" cried Marjory. "Oh, what's this?" as she lifted out a bundle wrapped in linen.
"I believe it's somebody's wedding-dress," said Blanche, as she helped to undo the wrappings.
It was a wedding dress, and there was a veil with it, and a wreath of myrtle. Fastened to the wreath with white ribbon was a lace-edged paper, with the following words written on it in a fine Italian hand, "Alison Grant married John Hunter, October 15, 1843."
"That's my grandmother," said Marjory. "Uncle George says she was very beautiful and very good. I expect she must have put all these things here. It seems funny, though, that she put her wedding dress away when it was quite fresh; it doesn't look as if it had been worn."
"Perhaps she meant to keep it for her daughter," suggested Blanche. "Old-fashioned people used to do that. My mother didn't. She wore hers when she went to parties, and then had it dyed and made into a petticoat!"
"My mother was the only girl of the family who lived to grow up, and grandmother died when she was a little girl, so of course nobody knew about the dress being here."
Alan was more interested in the next find, which was a complete court suit—silk stockings, buckled shoes, and all. Then came an old uniform, moth-eaten long before Dame Alison's careful hands had folded it away. Its gold lace was tarnished almost beyond recognition, and on it was a label written in the same delicate handwriting, "Worn by General James Hunter at the battle of Waterloo, June 18, 1815, where he was mortally wounded."
"Isn't it ripping?" exclaimed Alan. "I should have liked to see the old chap who wore this."
At the bottom of the chest were some fencing-sticks, a couple of old pistols, a box with some tarnished medals once the pride of a soldier's heart, a bundle of letters, and, last of all, a worn portfolio tied with ribbon; and inside was written, in the handwriting of Alison Hunter, Marjory's grandmother, "Chronicles of the Hunter family." She had evidently meant to arrange them in book form some day. There were old letters, newspaper cuttings, and a genealogical tree traced in the same fine hand. Inside the sheet of paper containing this there was another paper which appeared to have verses of some sort written on it. The light was growing dim, and Marjory could hardly decipher the words, "Copied from the County Records at Corrisdale Castle, through the kindness of Sir Alexander Reid, being ancient prophecies concerning the Hunter family."
Here indeed was a find. This piece of paper appealed more to Marjory's imagination than did the dresses or even the uniform. What a pity it was getting so dark! It must be near tea-time, and they must put away the things. They did so very reluctantly, laying them all back as they had found them, with the exception of the portfolio, which Marjory determined to carry off to her bedroom, where she could read its contents at her leisure. Alan showed her how to fix the lid of the box on again, and exactly how to undo the nails in order to take it off. Regretfully they left their treasure trove and went to tea.