it only made matters more tantalising than ever.”
“Why?” asked Patty.
“One of the papers was a will, properly executed and witnessed, leaving all the fortune of which Uncle Marmaduke died possessed, to my mother. Then, instead of a definite statement of where this money was deposited, were some foolish jingles hinting where to find it. These rhymes would be interesting as an old legend, or in a story book, but to find them instead of a heap of money, was, to say the least, disappointing.”
“And did you never find the money?”
“Never. And, of course, now we never will. Remember all this happened twenty years ago. I mean the discovery of the papers. Of course, the money was hidden more than thirty-five years ago.”
“And do you mean to say that you people are living here, in your own house, and your own money is hidden here somewhere, and you can’t find it?”
“Exactly as you state it.”
“Well! I’d find it, if I had to tear the whole house down.”
“Wait a minute, Miss Impetuosity. We don’t think it’s in the house.”
“Oh, out of doors?”
“You’re good at puzzles, I know, but just wait until you hear the directions that came with the package, and I think you’ll admit it’s a hopeless problem.”
“May she see them, Mother?” said Mabel. “Will you get them out for us?”
“Not to-night, dear. I’ll show the old papers to Patty, some other time; but now Sinclair can tell her the lines just as well.”
“Of all the papers in the books,” Sinclair went on, “only two seemed to be directions for finding the money, although others vaguely hinted that the fortune was concealed. And still others gave the impression that Uncle Marmaduke meant to tell mother all about it; but as his death came upon him so suddenly, of course he could not do this. On these two papers are rhymes, which we children have known by heart all our lives. One is:
“‘Great treasure lieth in the poke
Between the fir trees and the oak.’
“You see uncle was a true poet.”
“What does the poke mean?” asked Patty.
“Oh, a poke is a pocket; or a hiding-place of any sort. Of course, this information sent father to digging around every fir tree and oak tree on the place. As you know, there are hundreds of both kinds of trees, so the directions can’t be called explicit.”
“But,” said Patty, wrinkling her brow, “it says ‘between the fir trees and the oak,’ as if it meant a clump of firs and only one big oak.”
“Yes; that’s what has been surmised. And many a separate oak tree that stands near a group of firs has been thoroughly investigated. But wait; there’s another clue. On a separate paper these words are written:
“‘Above the stair, across the hall,
Between the bedhead and the wall,
A careful searching will reveal
The noble fortune I conceal.’
“There, could anything be plainer than that?”
“Then the money is in the house!” exclaimed Patty.
“Take your choice. There are the two declarations. It may be he concealed the money in one place, and then transferred it to another. Or it may be he put part in the ground, and part in the house.”
“But, ‘between the bedhead and the wall,’ is so definite. There are not so very many bedrooms, you know.”
“True enough. And of course, when my father found that paper, he went directly upstairs, crossed the hall, and so reached Uncle Marmaduke’s own bedroom. The furniture had been moved about, but Grandy remembered where the head of the bed stood in Uncle’s time. They searched thoroughly, took up flooring, took down wainscoting, and all that, to no avail.”
“Of course, they tried other ‘bedheads’?”
“Yes, tell her about it, Grandy.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Cromarty, placidly. “All the bedrooms in the house, even the servants’ rooms, were subjected to most careful scrutiny. Although so many years had elapsed, I could remember where the various beds stood when Marmaduke was with us. Behind each, we had the walls sounded, and in some cases, broken into. We even looked for pockets or receptacles of some sort on the backs of the headboards themselves, but never a trace of anything could we find.”
“It’s very exciting!” said Patty; “how can you all be so calm about it? I should think you’d be searching every minute!”
“You must remember, dear,” said Mrs. Hartley, “it’s an old story to us. At first, we were indeed excited. For several years we searched almost continuously. Then hope began to fail, and our investigations became intermittent. Every now and then we would make a fresh attempt, but invariably repeated failures dampened our enthusiasm.”
“It’s so interesting,” sighed Patty. “Can’t we get up a little of the old enthusiasm, and do some searching while I’m here?”
“Indeed, we can,” cried Bob. “Would you prefer an excavating party, with picks and spades, or an indoor performance in the old bedrooms?”
“Both,” declared Patty. “Of course I know how absurd it is to go over the ground that has already been worn threadbare, but—but, oh! if we could find it!”
Grandma Cromarty smiled.
“Forgive me, dearie,” she said, “but I’ve heard those sentiments from all my guests to whom we have told the story, for the past thirty-five years; and though I don’t want to seem ungrateful for your interest, I feel it my duty to warn you there is no hope.”
“Oh, yes there is hope, Grandy,” said Sinclair, “but there is nothing else. There’s no probability, scarcely a possibility, but we’ll never give up hope.”
“Never!” agreed Bob; but Mabel’s expression plainly showed that she hadn’t the faintest glimmering of a hope.
“It does seem so strange,” said Patty, thoughtfully, “to have the two directions, and both so explicit. No, not explicit, they’re not that, but both so definite.”
“Hardly definite, either,” said Bob, “except that they seem to reveal the fact that there is a fortune concealed about the place. Oh! it makes me frantic! I feel so helpless.”
“There’s no use storming about it, Bob, my boy,” said his mother. “And, Patty, you mustn’t set us down as too mercenary in this matter. But I think you know that we, as a family, long for the means which would enable us to keep up this dear old place as it should be, and not let its beautiful parks and gardens go uncared for and neglected.”
“I do know!” cried Patty; “and it makes me furious to think that the money—your own money—is perhaps within your reach, and yet—you can’t get it! Oh, why didn’t Mr. Marmaduke say just where he put it!”
“He did,” said Bob, smiling.
“Yes, so he did. Well, I’d tear up every square foot of ground on the whole estate, then.”
“Remember, Patty,” said Sinclair, in his quiet way, “there are nearly ten thousand acres in all; and except for meadowlands and water, there are oaks and firs on nearly every acre. The fortune itself would scarcely pay for all that labour.”
“Well, then, I’d tear the house to pieces.”
“Oh, no you wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Hartley; “and beside, that has almost been done. My husband had so much of the woodwork