But Turly had got away from the cradle and had opened one of the presses.
"Strange-looking things in here," he said. "Hanging up, like people."
"Oh, they're old dresses of course," said Terry. "Very old dresses I'm sure they must be. Oh, Turly!"
Turly had climbed up and unhooked some things which had caught his fancy. He carried them to the light and examined them.
"It's a soldier's uniform," he said, "and it must be very old. It's all stuffy and moth-eaten, and the gold is nearly black. There are green things on it. I know what it is, Terry. It belonged to Gran'ma's uncle in the Irish Brigades. He was killed at Fontenoy. They sent home his things. Nursey told me all about it."
"Oh, do put it away, Turly! Don't try to get into it. You're too small, and beside he was killed."
"It's too big for me," said Turly. "I wonder if he had it on when he was killed!"
"Of course he had. Oh, Turly, do hang it up again!"
"I thought it looked like a kill when I saw it hanging there," said Turly. And he hung it up again and closed the door of that press.
"Now I'm sure this is Gran'ma's wedding-dress," said Terry. "It's white, you know, though it looks gray, because it's so long ago!"