That day Bud was a model pupil. Quiet, far too quiet for comfort, he studied hard and recited perfectly. The day passed as a model in the history of the school. Florence went home more puzzled than ever. On the doorstep of the whipsawed house she found Uncle Billie Gibson. He was smiling his brightest smile and glancing up at the eaves as if he expected a shower of gold to come rattling down from the shingles.
A moment later two breathless young ladies were eagerly begging Mrs. McAlpin for permission to remove a board from the ceiling of their room that they might explore the attic of that venerable house.
Consent of the good lady was readily obtained and in a twinkle, armed with a wood chisel and hammer, they were at the job.
Have you never entered an old house whose attic has remained unexplored for years? Then you have never enjoyed the exciting dreams that come with thoughts of treasures that may be found there. Chests filled with curios from many lands; ancient trunks packed with rare old laces; a grandfather’s clock; rare old books worth a fortune; period furniture that a millionaire might covet. Indeed, who knows what rare treasures may be hidden there?
As for the two girls and Uncle Billie, they were looking for but one treasure—a stack of yellow gold.
As Florence inserted the chisel in a crack and gave it a pull there came such a screech from the ancient hand-hammered nails as brought a scream of fright from Marion. The next moment the board gave way with a suddenness that all but knocked Florence from the chair upon which she was perched and showered her with an accumulation of aged dust. With a shrill cry she leaped to the floor.
Over their heads, as they regained composure, they saw a broad, black, gaping hole.
“Dark up there,” said Marion with a little shudder.
“Have to use a flashlight.” Florence dug down into her trunk. “Here it is.”
“But it won’t work.”