intricate carvings at the intersections; the cornice carved in deep relief, with heraldic bosses, and massive patterns; the tall columns and pilasters; all seemed part of an old monument which it would be desecration to break into.
“I wonder where it is,” she said; “indoors or out.”
“I think it’s out of doors,” said Sinclair. “I think uncle hid it in the house first, and then wrote his exquisite poem about the poke. Perhaps it was merely a pocket of leather or canvas, that hung behind the headboard of his own bed. In that case all prying into the walls would mean nothing. Then, I think, as that was only a temporary hiding-place, he later buried it in the ground between some special oak tree and fir tree, or trees. I think, too, he left, or meant to leave some more of his poetry to tell which trees, but owing to his sudden taking off, he didn’t do this.”
“Sinclair,” said Bob, “as our American friend, Mr. Dooley, says, ‘Yer opinions is inthrestin’, but not convincin’.’ As opinions, they’re fine; but I wish I had some facts. If uncle had only left a cryptogram or a cipher, I’d like it better than all that rhymed foolishness.”
“Perhaps it isn’t foolishness,” said Patty; “I think, with Sinclair, it’s likely Mr. Marmaduke wrote the indoor one first, and then changed the hiding-place and wrote the other. But how could he do all this hiding and rehiding without being seen?”
“I went up to London every season,” said Mrs. Cromarty; “and, of course, took Emmeline with me. Marmaduke always stayed here, and thus had ample opportunity to do what he would. Indeed, he usually had great goings-on while we were away. One year, he had the Italian garden laid out. Another year, he had a new porter’s lodge built. This was done the last year of his life, and as he had masons around so much at that time, repairing the cellars and all that, we thought later, that he might have had a hiding-place arranged in the wall behind the head of his bed. But, if so, we never could find it.”
“And have you dug under the trees much?” persisted Patty, who could not accept the hopelessness of the others.
“Dug!” exclaimed Bob, “I’ve blistered my hands by the hour. I’ve viewed fir trees and oaks, until I know every one on the place by heart. I’ve trudged a line from oaks to firs, and starting in the middle, I’ve dug both ways. But I’m nearly ready to give up. Not quite, though. I’m making a thorough search of all the books in the library, on the chance of finding some other message. But there are such a lot of books! I’ve been at it for three years now, off and on, and I’m only three-quarters way round. And not a paper yet, except a few old letters and bills.”
“I’ll help you, Bob,” said Patty; “oh, I’d love to do something toward the search, even if I don’t find a thing. I’ll begin to-morrow. You tell me what books you’ve done.”
“I will, indeed. I’ll be jolly glad to have help. And you can do as much as you like, before your young enthusiasm wears off.”
“I’ll do it, gladly,” said Patty, and then they discovered that the evening had flown away, and it was bedtime.
As they went upstairs, Mabel followed Patty to her room and sat down for a little good-night chat.
Patty’s eyes were shining with excitement, and as she took off her hair ribbon, and folded it round her hand, she said:
“Even if we don’t find anything, you’ll be no worse off, and it’s such fun to hunt.”
“They didn’t tell you all, Patty,” said Mabel, in a pathetic tone, and Patty turned quickly to her friend.
“Why, what do you mean?”
“I mean this. Of course, we’ve never been rich, and we’ve never been able to do for the place what ought to be done for it; but we have been able to live here. And now—now, if we can’t get any more money, we—we can’t stay here! Oh, Patty!”
Patty’s arms went round Mabel, as the poor child burst into tears.
“Yes,” she said, sobbing, “some of mother’s business interests have failed—it’s all come on lately, I don’t entirely understand it—but, anyway, we may soon have to leave Cromarty, and oh, Patty, how could we live anywhere else? and what’s worse, how could we have any one else living here?”
“Leave Cromarty Manor! Where you’ve all lived so long—I mean your ancestors and all! Why, Mabel, you can’t do that!”
“But we’ll have to. We haven’t money enough to pay the servants—or, at least, we won’t have, soon.”
“Are you sure of all this, dear? Does Mrs. Cromarty expect to go away?”
“It’s all uncertain. We don’t know. But mother’s lawyer thinks we’d better sell or let the place. Of course we won’t sell it, but it would be almost as bad to let it. Think of strangers here!”
“I can’t think of such a thing! It seems impossible. But perhaps matters may turn out better than you think. Perhaps you won’t have to go.”
“That’s what Sinclair says—and mother. But I’m sure the worst will happen.”
“Now, Mabel, stop that! I won’t let you look on the dark side. And, anyway, you’re not to think any more about it to-night. You won’t sleep a wink if you get nervous and worried. Now put it out of your mind, and let’s talk about the croquet party to-morrow at Grace Meredith’s. How are we going over?”
“You and I are to drive in the pony cart, and the others will go in the carriage.”
“That will be lovely. Now, what shall we wear?”
Thus, tactfully, Patty led Mabel’s thoughts away from her troubles, for the time, at least, and when the two friends parted for the night, they both went healthily and happily to sleep.
Chapter XVI.
The Croquet Party
The next afternoon the two girls started in the pony cart for the Merediths.
Patty loved to play croquet, and though it greatly amused her to hear the English people pronounce the word as if it were spelled croky, yet not to appear peculiar, she spoke it that way too.
The party was a large one, and the games were arranged somewhat after the fashion of a tournament.
Patty’s partner was Tom Meredith, and as he played a fairly good game they easily beat their first opponents.
But later on they found themselves matched against Mabel Hartley and a young man named Jack Stanton. Mr. Stanton was an expert, and Mabel played the best game Patty had ever seen a girl play.
“It’s no use,” said Patty, good-naturedly, as they began the game, “Tom and I never can win against you two.”
“Don’t despair,” said Tom, encouragingly, “There’s many a slip, you know.”
The game progressed until, when Tom and Patty were about three-quarters of the way around, Mabel was passing through her last wicket and Mr. Stanton was a “rover.”
“Be careful, now,” said Mr. Stanton, as Mabel aimed to send her ball through the arch. “It’s a straight shot, and a long shot, and you’re liable to touch the post.”
And that’s just what happened. As Mabel’s swift, clear stroke sent the ball straight through the wicket, it went spinning on and hit squarely the home stake.
“Jupiter! that’s bad luck!” exclaimed Jack Stanton. “They’ll jolly well beat us now. But never mind, perhaps I can slip through yet.”
But he couldn’t. The fact that they had two plays to his one, gave Patty and Tom a great advantage.
Tom