was indeed an odd one. For it was nothing more than a
gallery, broader at the ends than the sides, with a railed open space,
through which one could look down to the floor below. Some of the doors
were open and she peeped into the rooms, but saw nothing which induced
her to enter them. Having made the circuit of the gallery, she reached a
narrow staircase which wound still higher upward.

"I must go up," she said; "I cannot help it."

Arrived at the top of these stairs, Miriam held up her candle and looked
about her. She was in a great, wide, magnificent, glorious garret! Her
soul swelled. To own such a garret was almost too much joy! It was the
realization of a thousand dreams.

Slowly advancing, she beheld fascinations on every side. Here were old
trunks, doubtless filled with family antiquities; there was a door
fastened with a chain and a padlock--there must be a key to that, or the
lock could be broken; in the dim light at the other end of the garret,
she could see what appeared to be a piled-up collection of boxes, chests,
cases, little and big, and all sorts of old-fashioned articles of use and
ornament, doubtless every one of them a treasure. A long musket, its
stock upon the floor, reclined against a little trunk covered with
horse-hair, from under the lid of which protruded the ends of some dusty
folded papers.

"Oh, how I wish Ralph were here, and that we had a lamp. I could spend
the night here, looking at everything; but I can't do it now with this
little candle end."

At her feet was a wooden box, the lid of which was evidently unfastened,
for it lay at an angle across the top.

"I will look into this one box," she said, "and then I will go down."

She knelt down, and with the candle in her right hand, pushed aside the
lid with her left. From the box there grinned at her a human skull,
surrounded by its bones. She started back.

"Uncle Butterwood," she gasped and tried to rise, but her strength and
senses left her, and she fell over unconscious, upon the floor. The
candle dropped from her hand, and, fortunately, went out.

CHAPTER V

PANNEYOPATHY

About ten o'clock the next morning, Mike, in his little wagon, rattled up
to the door of Dr. Tolbridge.

The doctor was not at home, but his wife came out.

"That young girl!" she exclaimed. "Why, what can be the matter with her?"

"I dunno, ma'am," answered Mike. "Phoebe told me just as the wagon got
there with the boxes an' trunks, an'