e magic bag.

[Sidenote: It Seemed Odd]

When she returned from her errand, Aunt Matilda was nowhere to be seen,
and Grandmother, nodding in her chair by the window, had not been
awakened by the opening and closing of the door. Rosemary went
up-stairs, and, from sounds that penetrated the hall through the closed
door of Aunt Matilda's room, inferred that she also was taking an
afternoon nap.

If she could only write to Alden, and tell him he was free! Night after
night she had pondered over ways and means. It seemed odd that in a
house where there was always plenty to eat and to wear, of a certain
sort, stationery and stamps should be practically unknown. Grandmother
had used the last sheet of paper and the last envelope when she ordered
the bolt of brown alpaca, and with stern suspicion held Rosemary to
account for every penny with which she was entrusted.

If she had paper and an envelope, perhaps she might ask the storekeeper
to send the note up with the Marshs' groceries, or, better yet, she
might go up to the house herself very early some morning or very late
some night and slip it under the front door. In that way, she would be
sure he received it. Rosemary brightened as she saw that a stamp would
not really be necessary after all.

[Sidenote: Rosemary Takes Possession of the Box]

If only, among her mother's things in the attic, there might be an
envelope! She could use brown wrapping paper to write upon, if worst
came to worst--the storekeeper might even give her a small, fresh piece
of the pale yellow sort. Rosemary knew every separate article in the
trunk, however, even the inlaid box to which the key was missing. She
had never dared to ask for the key, much less to break open the box, but
to-day, the courage of desperation sustained her and she ran quickly
up-stairs.

Long afternoon sunbeams, sweet with June, came into the attic, and made
fairy gold of the dust as they entered the room. It had none of the
charm which belongs to every well-regulated attic; it was merely a
storehouse, full of cobwebs and dust. A few old trunks were stored
there, all empty save the small hair-cloth trunk which held Rosemary's
mother's few possessions that had outlived her.

She opened it, found the box, and discovered that she had forgotten the
scissors with which she intended to break the lock. She wondered whether
she might safely risk the trip down-stairs after the scissors, or
whether it would be better to take the