Key to be given my niece, Clara Truman, or her heirs, on the day on which my will is opened. “I have no idea what the envelope contains,” said Mr. Chester. “It was brought to me sealed as you see it.” “Oh, don’t you see!” I cried, fairly jumping in my chair with excitement. “It’s not that kind of a key—not a for-sure key—it’s a key to the puzzle—a key to where the bonds and things are.” “Well, we’ll soon see,” said mother, and tore open the envelope with trembling fingers. Mr. Chester, I think, had half a mind to stop her, but thought better of it and leaned back in his chair again. I couldn’t wait—I was dying with impatience—and I skipped over to her side. The only contents of the envelope was a little slip of paper. “Why, it’s poetry!” I cried, as mother drew it [Pg 41]out and unfolded it. And, indeed, there were four rhymed lines written upon it: [Pg 41] Not good verse, perhaps; but sufficiently tantalizing! I don’t know precisely how it happened, but as I stooped to take the slip of paper from mother’s fingers, it somehow fluttered away from us, and after a little gyration or two, settled to the floor exactly at Silas Tunstall’s feet. He picked it up, before any one could interfere, and calmly proceeded to read the lines written upon it, before he handed it back to us. I saw the quick flush which sprang to Mr. Chester’s face, but the whole thing was over in a minute, almost before anyone could say a word. Mr. Tunstall’s face was positively beaming, and he chuckled audibly as he picked up his hat and rose to his feet. “Thet’s all fer the present, ain’t it, Mr. Chester?” he asked. “Yes, that’s all, I think.” [Pg 42] [Pg 42]
Prev.
Back
Top