box with her and hide it in her
room. Before she had made up her mind, she heard a slow, heavy tread
upon the stair.

She could not go down and she did not wish to be found with the
box--indeed, she dared not. She cowered back under the eaves and lay
flat on the floor behind the trunk, just as Grandmother came into the
attic.

[Sidenote: Hidden Gold]

For a moment the old lady paused, her keen eyes searching the room as
though she felt a presence which she did not see. Rosemary lay very
quietly upon the floor, though fearing that the loud beating of her
heart might be heard in the stillness.

Reassured, and not in the least lame, Grandmother went to the brick
chimney that came up through the attic, and mounted a decrepit chair.
She scratched and pried at a certain brick with her scissors, then
removed it quietly. Reaching in, she drew out a black bag, whence came a
sound of tinkling metal. Rosemary, peering around the corner of the
trunk, could scarcely believe the evidence of her own senses.

Grandmother took out a twenty-dollar gold piece, restored the bag to its
place, put the brick back, and went down-stairs with the quiet, stealthy
movement of a cat.

Presently Rosemary went down-stairs also, with the box, stopping to
leave it in her own room. Cold with excitement, she trembled when she
went into the kitchen and began to make preparations for supper. She
heard warring voices in the sitting-room, then Grandmother came to the
kitchen door.

[Sidenote: The Old Photograph]

"Oh," she said. "So you came in the back way. I didn't hear you come in.
Reckon I must have been asleep."

Rosemary did not answer. She longed to be alone in her own room with the
inlaid box, which now assumed a mystery and portent it had never had
before, but it was almost midnight before, by the flickering light of a
candle-end, she broke it open, smothering the slight sound with the
patchwork quilt.

She hoped for stationery, but there was none. It contained an old
photograph and a letter addressed to Grandmother Starr. Rosemary leaned
to the light with the photograph, studying it eagerly. It was old and
faded, but the two were still distinct--a young woman in an elaborate
wedding gown, standing beside a man who was sitting upon an obviously
uncomfortable chair.

The man, in a way, resembled Grandmother Starr; the lady looked like
Rosemary, except that she was beautiful. "Father!" cried Rosemary, in an
agonising whisper. "Mother!