her. Or it may be
he put part in the ground, and part in the house."

"But, 'between the bedhead and the wall,' is so definite. There are not
so very many bedrooms, you know."

"True enough. And of course, when my father found that paper, he went
directly upstairs, crossed the hall, and so reached Uncle Marmaduke's own
bedroom. The furniture had been moved about, but Grandy remembered where
the head of the bed stood in Uncle's time. They searched thoroughly, took
up flooring, took down wainscoting, and all that, to no avail."

"Of course, they tried other 'bedheads'?"

"Yes, tell her about it, Grandy."

"Yes," said Mrs. Cromarty, placidly. "All the bedrooms in the house, even
the servants' rooms, were subjected to most careful scrutiny. Although so
many years had elapsed, I could remember where the various beds stood
when Marmaduke was with us. Behind each, we had the walls sounded, and in
some cases, broken into. We even looked for pockets or receptacles of
some sort on the backs of the headboards themselves, but never a trace of
anything could we find."

"It's very exciting!" said Patty; "how can you all be so calm about it? I
should think you'd be searching every minute!"

"You must remember, dear," said Mrs. Hartley, "it's an old story to us.
At first, we were indeed excited. For several years we searched almost
continuously. Then hope began to fail, and our investigations became
intermittent. Every now and then we would make a fresh attempt, but
invariably repeated failures dampened our enthusiasm."

"It's _so_ interesting," sighed Patty. "Can't we get up a little of the
old enthusiasm, and do some searching while I'm here?"

"Indeed, we can," cried Bob. "Would you prefer an excavating party, with
picks and spades, or an indoor performance in the old bedrooms?"

"Both," declared Patty. "Of course I know how absurd it is to go over the
ground that has already been worn threadbare, but--but, oh! if we _could_
find it!"

Grandma Cromarty smiled.

"Forgive me, dearie," she said, "but I've heard those sentiments from all
my guests to whom we have told the story, for the past thirty-five years;
and though I don't want to seem ungrateful for your interest, I feel it
my duty to warn you there is no hope."

"Oh, yes there is _hope_, Grandy," said Sinclair, "but there is nothing
else. There's no probability, scarcely a possibility, but we'll _never_
give up hope."

"Never!" agreed Bob; but Mabel's expression