"No, it's nothing but samples of woods. I've got a list of their names somewhere." And Mrs. Shaw went to a box to search for the paper.
Meanwhile Alan pulled and thumped, and at last one of the pieces composing the box moved. The rest was easily done; one piece after another came away, and there, right in the middle of the block, was a small velvet case.
"Look! look!" he cried excitedly. "Come and see, Mrs. Shaw."
They all crowded round while Mrs. Shaw opened the case. Inside it was a beautifully-painted head of a little girl.
"Why, it's Blanche when she was small!" exclaimed Marjory.
Mrs. Shaw stood as if turned to stone for a minute. Then she covered her face with her hands and wept aloud. The children stood silent, frightened by this outburst of grief, and not knowing what to do or say.
At last Blanche took courage, and gently touching the weeping woman's arm, she said,—
"Please, don't cry. What is the matter? We are so sorry."
"Oh, my dear! my dear! that is the picture of my own little girl who died long ago. I took to you from the first because of the likeness. I've never seen her father since she died. It all happened long ago, before I came here. She was a delicate little thing, and one day, while her father was at home, I went away for the day to see my sister. The child had a little cold, and I said to her father that she had better not go out. But she begged so hard to go that he couldn't refuse her, and they went out. They went into a shop for her father to buy some tobacco. The child began playing with a kitten. She was very fond of animals, and while her father's back was turned, she ran out into the street after the kitten. She was knocked down and run over by a van, and she only lived a few hours. Oh, my darling! my darling!" the poor woman continued, unconscious of her listeners, "the light of my life went out when you were taken, and I am only just beginning to learn the lesson of my grief." Then returning to her story: "I blamed her poor father for her death, and I sent him away. That was seven years ago. He has written to me, and every year he sends me a parcel of things. He buys me something at every port he touches—he's a sailor, you know, a captain now—and I've never sent him a word of thanks, not one single word; and now this! This little box came last year, and I never even troubled to read this paper about it. Think how he planned it as a surprise for me, and what he must have paid to have it done. God forgive me! for I've been a wicked woman." And she wept afresh, rocking herself to and fro.
The children were awestruck by this recital. Alan took the paper from Mrs. Shaw. On the front page was a list of the various woods, as she had said, but inside were instructions for the opening of the puzzle box.