It was broad moonlight outside. She ran around to the north side of the house, and there was the little green door hidden under the low branches of the spruce tree. Letitia gave a sob of fear and thankfulness. She fitted the key in the lock, turned it, opened the door, and there she was back in her great-aunt's cheese-room.
She shut the door hard, locked it, and carried the key back to its place in the satin-wood box. Then she looked out of the window, and there was her great-aunt Peggy, and the old maid-servant just coming home from meeting.
Letitia confessed what she had done, and her aunt listened gravely. Letitia did not say anything about Josephus Peabody.
She was not sure that he had made his escape, and if he had his grandmother might punish him, and she considered that he had probably suffered enough at the hands of Goodman Cephas Holbrook.
Letitia's aunt listened gravely. “You were disobedient,” said she when Letitia had finished, “but I think your disobediance has brought its own punishment, and I hope now that you will be more contented.”
“Oh, Aunt Peggy,” sobbed Letitia, “everything I've got is so beautiful, and I love to study and crochet and go to church.”
“Well, it was a hard lesson to learn, and I hoped to spare you from it, but perhaps it was for the best,” said her great-aunt Peggy.
“I was there a whole winter,” said Letitia, “but when I got back you were just coming home from church.”
“It doesn't take as long to visit the past as it did to live in it,” replied her aunt. Then she sent Letitia to her room for the satin-wood box, and, when she had brought it, took out of it a little parcel, neatly folded in white paper, tied with a green ribbon. “Open it,” said she.
Letitia untied the green ribbon and unfolded the paper, and there was the little silver snuff-box which had been the treasure of the great-great-grandmother, Letitia Hopkins. She raised the lid, and there was also the little glass bottle.