They set to work with high hopes and soon had excavated a complete circle around the sundial. Dusk found them still digging. Finally, with an exclamation of disgust, Madge threw down her spade.
“I’ve had enough. As far as I’m concerned, the pearls may stay hidden until the end of time!”
“Amen,” Cara added fervently. “Just look at the blisters on my hands. And my shoulder muscles are sore already. What will they be like tomorrow?”
“If the way I feel is any indication, we’ll both be in the hospital. The next time I get one of my so-called brilliant ideas, I hope you choke me.”
“I will,” Cara promised gravely.
They filled in the earth they had disturbed and went home in a very ill temper. A hot bath and a warm supper cheered Madge considerably, causing her to forget her resolution to think no more of the pearls. That very evening she settled herself in an easy chair, determined to reread Florence Swenster’s diary.
It was a tiresome ordeal now that the material was no longer novel. Several times Madge yawned wearily and was tempted to switch to a popular magazine.
“This is absolutely our last hope,” she told herself, gazing thoughtfully at the little leather book in her hand. “Miss Swenster’s auction sale will be held in a few days now, and after the place is sold, it will be too late to help her. I suppose I’m crazy to keep kidding myself we may find the pearls—especially, after our experience today. Just the same I can’t help feeling that I’ve overlooked some important clue.”
She yawned again and went back to her reading.
“This will never do!” she chided herself. “My mind isn’t on it at all.”