ht they rushed in and glanced eagerly about.

At first they saw nothing in any way remarkable--the familiar furniture,
the sewing machine, the work-table and baskets of their mothers, a few
shreds of white cotton and linen, a scrap here and there of red braid
littering the carpet near the machine, and the low rocking-chair used by
Mrs. Conly.

"Pooh! nothing here to be so secret about," cried Walter, but Dick,
nodding his head wisely said, "Let's look a little further. What's in
that closet?"

They ran to it, opened the door, and started back in sudden momentary
affright.

"'Taint alive," said Dick, the bolder of the two, quickly recovering
himself; "horrid thing! I reckon I know what 'tis," and he whispered a
few words in his companion's ear.

Walter gave a nod of acquiescence of the opinion.

"Here's another 'most finished," pursued Dick, dragging out and
examining a bundle he found lying on the closet floor. (The one which
had so startled them hung on the wall.) "We'll have some fun out of 'em
one of these times when it's ready, eh, Wal?"

"Yes, but let's put 'em back, and hurry off now, for fear somebody
should come and catch us. I'm afraid those folks in the drawing-room may
go, and our mothers come up to their work again."

"So they might, to be sure," said Dick, rolling up the bundle and
bestowing it in its former resting place. "We must be on the watch, Wal,
or we'll miss our chance; they'll be sending them out o' this about as
soon as they're finished."

"Yes. Who do you think they're for?"

(The boys scorned the rules of English grammar, and refused to be
fettered by them. Was not theirs a land of free speech--for the
aristocratic class to which they undoubtedly belonged?)

"Cal and Art, of course."

"Don't you believe it, Art cares for nothing but his books and
Silverheels. Wasn't that a jolly birthday present, Dick? I wish Travilla
and Cousin Elsie would remember ours the same way."

"Reckon I do. There, everything's just as we found it. Now let's
skedaddle."

Chapter Eighth.

"A horrid spectre rises to my sight,
Close by my side, and plain, and palpable
In all good seeming and close circumstance
As man meets man."
--JOANNA BAILLIE.

It was a sultry summer night, silent and still, not a leaf stirring,
hardly so much as the chirp of an insect to be heard. The moon looked
down from a cloudless sky upon green lawns and meadows, fields and
forests clothed in richest verdure; garde