'Oh, you silly girl,' said Kathie, but Neville checked her. 'How should she know?' he said. 'She's never been in England till this year.'

But Philippa was not attending. She had pulled back her sleeve, and had plunged her arm into the bag.

'Kathie,' she said, '_that's_ the stuff my pocket was filled with in my dream. _Isn't_ it funny? For I didn't know about making the pincushions then--and I didn't know till this minute what bran was like.'

She was quite excited about it, and the others agreed it was very curious. But the work soon engrossed them all. Neville had something to do too this morning. He took charge of emptying the cushions of the old bran, and re-filling them, and most interesting work he found it, the first part especially. He shook out the cushions on to another newspaper, and for some minutes did not speak. Then Kathie looked round and asked him what he was doing.

'Oh,' he said, 'this is such jolly fun! Just look here, Kathie and Phil,' and he pointed to a row of needles and a few pins at the side of his newspaper. 'I've found all these in the bran. And I expect there are a lot more, and some ends of old brooch pins--looks like real gold,' he went on, holding up one--'it's as good as a hunt. You have to spread the stuff out quite thin and flat, and even then you've no idea how the needles hide. Hullo! here's another.'

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Kathie and Philippa watched him for a few moments.

'Yes,' said Kathie, 'it's very interesting. But we must get on with our work. And when are you going to fill the cushions with the new bran for us, Neville? I can st.i.tch them up as soon as they are filled, and we must put a little bag in near the top with the scent-powder, Phil.'

'They won't take five minutes to do,' said Neville. 'Will you fetch me a big spoon, Kathie? It'll make less mess.'

And in a very few minutes, as he said, the cushions were filled. Then Neville went back to his needle-hunt, and for a quarter of an hour or so he was quite silent. Then he began to fidget.

'I wish I had some more to do,' he said. 'Kathie, hasn't aunty any more to be made over?'

Kathie shook her head.

'No; the other two she wants to keep as they are for the present, she says,' Kathie replied.

'I've finished this stuff,' said Neville. 'Here--you may divide the needles among you. There are more than thirty. I'm going to keep these brooch pins to test if they're pure gold. Oh, I wish it would leave off raining!'

Suddenly he jumped up and ran out of the room. In about ten minutes he was back again, another old pincushion and two or three pieces of silk in his hand.

'Aunty says I may undo this one,' he said, waving it over his head.

'It's the one out of my own room. I just remembered it was very shabby, and aunty says I may undo it and fill it fresh, if one of you girls will help me to cover the top again. The frill isn't the same silk, you see, and it isn't dirty--the top's all pin-holed. I expect there'll be a jolly good lot of needles in this one. Here goes!' And he took the scissors and began to unpick it.

'How funny you are, Neville!' said Kathie. 'You're quite excited over your needle-hunting. Now just see here, Phil; should we turn in the inside lining or tack it down _outside_?' and a discussion ensued between the two girls, and they paid no more attention to Neville.

On his side he was very quiet for some minutes. Neither Kathleen nor Philippa heard a curious sound--a sort of smothered exclamation--which escaped him. Nor did his sister notice that he had left his seat and was standing beside her, till he touched her on the arm.

'Kathie,' he said, and his voice sounded strange and almost hoa.r.s.e, and Kathie, looking up, saw that he was deadly pale.

'Oh, Neville,' she exclaimed, 'what is the matter? Have you swallowed a needle?'

He could scarcely help smiling.

'Nonsense, Kathie,' he said. 'Nothing's the matter. It is this,' and he held out a sheet of note-paper, with some writing on it. The paper looked rather yellow, and was marked here and there at the edges as if it had been st.i.tched. 'This is the paper that was in my pincushion, just like the others. It was meant to have the date upon it, I suppose. But it isn't that--look what it is instead. I can scarcely believe it. I feel as if I was dreaming. I want you to read the words.'

And Kathie read--though with some difficulty, for she too felt as if she were dreaming, and the lines danced before her eyes. They were very few, however, and very legible, in Mrs. Wynne's clear, precise handwriting.

'My will, and some other papers of less importance, will be found in the plate-chest--containing the best silver--underneath the lining of green baize in the bottom of the box. The lining is only tacked in and will be easily removed.

'DAVIDA WYNNE.'

Kathie, without speaking, turned the sheet of paper round. On the other side was written, what Neville had not noticed, a date, 'Ty-gwyn, May 15th, 1859,' just as there had been in the other pincushions, only this was an older one.

Kathie's eyes sparkled, and the power of speech seemed to return to her.

'Yes,' she said, 'she had thought this was a blank sheet, and she put the blank sheet in the envelope of "directions," and sealed it up, by mistake. Neville, Neville, Phil, it's _it_!'

Neville was trembling so, he could scarcely stand.

'What shall we do?' he said. 'I can't bear to risk any more disappointment for aunty. If we could look ourselves, first, but we can't. Suppose it isn't there after all--or suppose it doesn't leave things as they think. She may have changed--Mrs. Wynne, I mean.'

'No,' said Kathleen, 'I'm not afraid of the will _if it's there_. Mrs.

Wynne told aunty almost the last thing that it would be all right. But she may have changed the place of keeping it--though it's not likely.

I'll tell you what, Neville--I'll ask aunty if she has ever looked in that plate-chest, and see what she says.'

'Yes,' said Neville, who was recovering his composure by now. 'We might do that. It would make it less of a disappointment if it _weren't_ there.'

'Oh,' said Kathie, 'we could get her to show us the plate-chest even without that. Yes--that will be best. I'm sure I can manage it.'

'But then,' said Neville, 'we'd have to tell her about this paper all the same. We couldn't conceal it.'

'No; but don't you see that there would be no _disappointment_ about it.

She would know at once that it wasn't there before she could hope or wonder about it. I don't think she could bear any more "hoping,"

Neville.'

'No,' he agreed, 'I don't think she could.'

And he felt both pleased and surprised at Kathie's womanly thoughtfulness for her aunt.

'We _can't_ work any more till we know for sure about it,' said little Phil. 'Oh, Kathie, do settle something quickly.'

'I'm going to,' said Kathie. 'Put all our things together neatly, Phil.

I'll be back in a minute.'

And in less than five she was back.

'Phil, Neville,' she called out, 'you're to come up-stairs to the locked-up room where aunty keeps the best linen, and the best china, and the best silver. Aunty's going to show it all to us because it's a wet day, and we don't want to work any more.'

'It is better not to tire yourselves over the pincushions,' said Miss Clotilda's gentle voice behind her, 'and you will have all the afternoon for them. I am sure it is not going to clear. So come along. I have got my keys. It is a very good idea of yours, Kathie.'

Up jumped Neville and Phil. Kathie was already nearly at the top of the staircase, Miss Clotilda following more slowly. From the long pa.s.sage which ran almost the length of the house on the first floor, she led the way down a shorter one, then up a little flight of steps ending in a small landing where there were two doors.

Miss Clotilda pointed to one on the right.

'That was the old butler's room,' she said. 'He left last year, for he was too old to work and he would not rest while here.'

'Is he dead?' asked Neville.

'Yes,' she replied; 'he died a week or so before Mrs. Wynne did. I have often thought,' she added, with a sigh, 'that he might have known something had he been alive.'