found pinned to leaves, and so
each book must be run through in such a way that every page could be
glanced at.

Nor was this a particularly pleasant task. For Mrs. Hartley had made it a
rule that when her own children went over the old books, they were to
dust them as they went along. Thus, she said, at least some good would be
accomplished, though no hidden documents might be found.

Of course, she did not request Patty to do this, but learning of the
custom, Patty insisted on doing it, and many an hour she spent in the old
library, clad in apron and dust-cap. Her progress was rather slow, for
book-loving Patty often became absorbed in the old volumes, and dropping
down on the window-seat, or the old steps to the gallery, would read
away, oblivious to all else till some one came to hunt for her.

At last, one day, her patient search met a reward. In an old book she
found several of what were beyond all doubt Mr. Marmaduke Comarty's
papers.

Without looking at them closely, Patty took the book straight to Mrs.
Cromarty.

"Dear me!" said the old lady, putting on her glasses. "Have we really
found something? I declare I'm quite nervous over it. Emmeline, you read
them."

Mrs. Hartley was a bit excited, too, and as for Patty and Mabel, they
nearly went frantic at their elders' slowness in opening the old and
yellow papers.

There were several letters, a few bills, and some hastily-scribbled
memoranda. The letters and bills were of no special interest, but on one
of the small bits of paper was another rhymed couplet that seemed to
indicate a direction.

It read:

"Where the angry griffin shows,
Ruthless, tear away the rose."

"Oh," exclaimed Patty, "it's another direction how to get the fortune!
Oh, Mabel, it will be all right yet! Oh, where is the angry griffin? Is
it over a rosebush? You're only to pull up the rosebush, and there you
are!"

Mabel looked bewildered. So did the older ladies.

"Speak, somebody!" cried Patty, dancing about in excitement. "Isn't there
any angry griffin? There must be!"

"That's the trouble," said Mrs. Hartley; "there are so many of them. Why,
there are angry griffins on the gates, over the lodge doors, on the
marbles in the gardens, and all over the house."

"Of course there are," said Mabel. "You must have noticed them, Patty.
There's one now," and she pointed to a bit of wood carving over the door
frame of the room they were in.