'Father,' here broke in George, 'I thought you were to have Vale Place when old Mr. Pelham died?'
'So did I,' said Mr. Carteret shortly.
'But it is left to some one else, is it not?' went on George, anxious to understand the matter, which had greatly puzzled both boys for some weeks.
'Yes, I meant to tell you about it when you came home,' said their father. 'It was no good writing bad news, but you must know it sooner or later. You know,' he continued, 'that my father and Mr. Pelham were brother-officers in India, and when both my parents were swept away in one week by cholera, Mr. Pelham brought me home to Vale Place, where I was brought up as his son and heir. But after his death, a few months ago, no will could be found, though he had repeatedly told me that he had made one, leaving Vale Place to me and my children.'
'Then who has Vale Place now?' asked George, as his father paused a minute.
'It passed to the heir,' said Mr. Carteret. 'He is a distant cousin, who cares nothing about the property, and means to sell it for building land.'
'What a shame!' said Pelham, hotly.
'Well, I do not know that there is any shame about it, for this cousin has never lived there, and it has none of the old associations for him that make me regret its loss so deeply. He seems a very considerate man in some ways, and begged to be allowed to send me all the old furniture which stood in my room at Vale Place, thinking I should value it, as indeed I do. So that is how the old chest came to me, and here are the keys. See what you can do with them.'
'Come on, George!' said Pelham. 'Where is the chest, father?'
'Upstairs in the attic. You will want a candle; it is in a dark corner,' was the answer.