a matter of a few hours can't make any difference."

"Oh yes; we'll wait till after tea," said Ida, "and then we shall have
plenty of time for a grand opening ceremony."

With some reluctance Guy and Elsie agreed to this new arrangement.
To them an extra ten hours or so seemed a very long time. The boy sat
silent for a while, making a kind of switchback with his napkin-ring
and the bread-knife.

"Mother," he said at length, "did you ever find the carver that was
lost?"

"No; I'm sorry to say I haven't," was the reply. "We've searched and
searched, but we can't find it anywhere."

"That's strange," remarked Mr. Ormond from his end of the table. "Does
Harry know anything about it?" he added, alluding to a boy who had come
in as a makeshift to clean knives and boots since the departure of
William Cole.

"No; I spoke to him at once, and made him search the tool-house, but
he couldn't find the knife. He says he never remembers having seen it,
which I believe is true, for I don't think he's had it to clean since
he's been here."

"It ought to be somewhere," remarked Mr. Ormond. "The lad's perfectly
honest, I should say, and can't have walked off with it. At the same
time, a carving-knife isn't a thing that disappears into thin air."

"Oh, I dare say we shall find it before long," was the answer. "Sometimes
things do slip away in the most unaccountable manner, and you never
discover where they are gone until perhaps you come across them quite
by accident--often when you are looking for something else."

Elsie could hardly go to sleep that night for thinking of what was going
to happen on the morrow. It would be nice, she imagined, to have a
mysterious box like that to open every day of the year, and so ensure a
constant succession of fresh surprises. Once more the chest was the
subject of her dreams; and this time, instead of being found full of
treasure, it simply would not open at all. Brian, Guy, and her father
were all trying to force up the lid, but the iron bands held it firm.
The only tool they had with which to work was the poultry-carver, and
this bent up like a strip of paper.

"Oh, bother!" cried Elsie, and stamped her foot. With that the whole
room seemed to rock and totter, and Ida's voice was heard complaining in
sleepy tones, "I wish you wouldn't kick me and shout 'bother.' Do lie
still!"

At length Thursday evening arrived. Blinds were lowered, curtains drawn,
and lamps lighted. At the tea-table,