At this moment there was a loud wail from Sheila, who, in picking flowers in the meadow where Sam was mowing, had been injured by the mower. It was some time before her cries were stilled, and her wound properly bandaged, so that, for the time being, the wonderful news that Philip had told was forgotten.
When it finally came to mind, Nathalie was tempted to run and claim him as her cousin, to tell him about Mrs. Renwick’s peculiar letter, and what was expected to take place there that afternoon. But after some thought she wisely concluded to remain silent until after she had talked with Mr. Banker and her mother. Not but that she had faith in Philip’s story, but because it seemed the most prudent thing to do.
These thoughts were hasty ones, for the girl had suddenly remembered that she had not selected the valuable thing as yet, and that it was almost four o’clock, the hour of Mr. Banker’s arrival. She had partly decided to select a set of rubies,—a necklace and pair of bracelets,—and then a Russian curio had made its appeal, but somehow she bordered upon a state of indecision that was becoming intolerable.
As she turned to enter the house, her eyes fell on the little Bible that, in her hasty rush to Sheila, when she appeared with her bleeding foot, she had left lying on the chair under the trees. She ran hastily across the lawn and picked it up. As she did so, the book flew open and her attention was arrested by the name, Philip Renwick, on the fly-leaf, and its connection with what Philip had just told her. And then, she stood a minute, pondering. Why had not she thought of that before? and then, with a dimpling face, she closed the book and hurried back to the veranda, almost knocking down Tony, who stood wistfully regarding her.
“Pleass, scusa, Mees Natta, haf you gotta da theeng for de preez?—Mister Banka, hees com’ bimeby to looka for eet.” Tony’s big, velvety eyes were mutely pleading as he looked up at Nathalie.
The girl laughingly mimicked the boy as she patted him on the head, understanding that he was worried because she had not selected the thing that the children were so anxious should “win the prize,” as they called it, for her. Then her eyes sobered, and, drawing the little lad to her, she showed him the Bible she held in her hand, explaining that she had selected it, as it told about Christ the Savior, and contained God’s wonderful message to His people, telling them how to love Him and be good. “Yes, Tony,” she added solemnly, “the Bible is the most precious thing to everybody in the world. And then, as this little Bible used to belong to Mrs. Renwick’s only son, I am sure that it would be the most valuable thing to her, so I am going to select it.”
As the girl saw the child’s eyes light up, as if he comprehended what she meant, she laid the Bible on a chair and ran hastily up to her room to hunt for some white paper and blue ribbon. In a moment or so she was back, wrapping up the book, and then, to Tony’s infinite delight, she slipped her card under the blue ribbon and gave the book to him, to place at the door of the mystery-room with the other packages.
Some time later, Nathalie, in company with her mother, Janet, Cynthia, and Mr. Banker, entered the mystery-room, no one perceiving as they entered that the children had slyly followed them, and were staring about with wondering, curious eyes. Ah, so this was the room they had all been so curious about; and Nathalie smiled as she saw that it was a homey, cozy room, suggestive of feminine tastes and occupations, but, after all, it was just nothing but Mrs. Renwick’s sitting-room, the room where she had sewed, read, and wrote her letters.
The low book-cases lining the wall, the hardwood floor with its costly Persian rug, the open fireplace set with fagots ready to light on a cool morning, the desk in one corner, with the Victrola near, and the antique furniture, all of solid mahogany, certainly did not savor of a mystery or anything uncanny. In fact, the little table in the center of the room, with its shaded lamp, books, and magazines, and the little upright work-basket near, rather intimated that the owner of the room had just left it for a moment or so.
But Mr. Banker was speaking. He stood by the little center-table on which lay the three valuable things. He held up Cynthia’s selection as he said: “I have here a picture, a most valuable painting, as it is a Van Dyke. It has been selected by Miss Cynthia Loretto Stillwell, as I see by the name on the card. This little box bears the name of Miss Janet Page, and is a curio from China. And here is a Bible,” the gentleman’s voice deepened as he held up Nathalie’s selection. The girl’s heart, notwithstanding her indifference to the outcome of the selection, was beating against her side in a very annoying way.