"Not really her cousin, but a relative of Mr. Pell"s. I never knew her, did you?"
"No; what"s she like?"
"Oh, she"s lovely. Kind and capable, but rather dictatorial, or, at least, decided."
"Does she get the house?"
"She says so. And I know Auntie spoke of leaving it to her, because, I believe, Mr. Pell had wished it."
"What about the jewels, Iris?"
"Oh, Win, I wish you wouldn"t talk or think about those things, till after----"
"After the funeral? I know it seems strange--I know I seem mercenary, and all that, but it isn"t so, Iris. There"s something wrong going on, and unless we are careful and alert, we"ll lose our inheritance yet."
"What _do_ you mean?"
"Never mind. But come with me and let"s take a glimpse into the diary. I tell you we ought to do it. It may mean everything."
Iris followed him to a small enclosed porch off the dining room and they put their heads together over the book.
It was funny, for Ursula Pell couldn"t help being funny.
One entry read:
"Felt like the old scratch to-day, so took it out on Iris. Poor girl, I am ashamed of myself to tease her so, but she"s such a good-natured little ninny, she stands it as few girls would. I must make it up to her in some way."
And another read at random:
"Up a stump to-day for some mischief to get into. Satan doesn"t look out properly for my idle hands. I manicured them carefully, and sat waiting for some real nice mischief to come along, but none did, so I hunted up some for myself. It"s Agnes" night out, and I stuffed the kitchen door keyhole with putty. Won"t she be mad! She"ll have to ring Polly up, and she"ll be mad, too. I"ll give Agnes my black lace parasol, to make up.
What a scamp I am! I feel like little Toddie, in "Helen"s Babies," who used to pray, "Dee Lord, not make me s...o...b..d!" Well, I s"pose "tis my nature to."
"These are late dates," said Bannard, running over the leaves, "let"s look further back."
It was not a yearly diary, but a goodsized blank book, in which the writer had jotted down her notes as she felt inclined; something was written every day, but it might be a short paragraph or several pages in length.
"Here"s something about us," and Bannard pointed to a page:
The entry ran:
"To-day I gave the box for Iris into Mr. Chapin"s keeping. I shall never see it again. After I am gone, he will give it to I. and she can have it for what it is worth. I"ll leave the F. pocket-book to Winston. The house must go to Lucille, but the young people won"t mind that, as they will have enough."
"That"s all right, isn"t it, Iris. Looks as if we were the princ.i.p.al heirs."
"You can"t tell, Win. She may have changed her mind a dozen times."
"That"s so. Let"s see if there"s anything about Mr. Bowen and his chalice."
"Oh, she only thought of that last Sunday."
"Don"t be too sure. I shouldn"t be surprised if the old chap got round her long ago, and had the matter all fixed up, and she pretended it was a new idea."
"I can"t think that."
"You can"t, eh? Well, listen here:
""Sometimes I think it would be a good deed to use half of the jewels for a gift to the church. If I should take the whole Anderson lot, there would be plenty left for W. and I.""
"What is the Anderson lot?" Iris asked.
"A certain purchase that the old man got through a dealer or an agent, named Anderson. Aunt Ursula used to talk over these things with me and, all of a sudden she shut up on the subject and never mentioned jewels to me again."
"She talked of them to me, sometimes, but never anything of definite importance. She spoke of the Baltimore emeralds, but I know nothing of them."
"They"re mentioned here; see:
""The Balto. emeralds will make a wonderful necklace for I. when she gets older. I hope I may live long enough to see the child decked out in them. I believe I"ll tell her the jewels are all in the crypt.""
"In the crypt! Oh, Win, you know Mr. Browne said he thought they were buried! Isn"t a crypt a burial place in a church?"
"Yes; but a crypt may be anywhere. Any vault is a crypt, really."
"But a bank vault wouldn"t be called a crypt, would it?"
"Not generally speaking, no. But, she probably changed the hiding place a dozen times since this was written."
"Well, we"ll know all when we hear the will. Isn"t it a queer thing to put all of one"s fortune in jewels?"
"She didn"t do it, her husband did. And everybody says he was a shrewd old chap. And, you know he made wonderful collections of coins and curios, and all sorts of things."
"Yes, up in the attic is a big portfolio of steel engravings. I can"t admire them much, but they"re valuable, Auntie said once. It seems Uncle Pell was a perfect crank on engravings of all sorts."
"I know. She gave me an intaglio topaz for a watch-fob. I didn"t care much about it."
"I"m crazy to see my diamond pin. I"ve heard about that for years. No matter how often she changed her will, she told me, that diamond pin was always bequeathed to me. Perhaps it"s her choicest gem."
"Perhaps. Listen to this, Iris:
""I am going to New York next Tues. I shall give Winston a cheap-looking pair of gloves, but I shall first put a hundred-dollar bill in each finger."
"She did that, you know, and I was so mad when she gave them to me I was within an ace of throwing them away. But I caught sight of a bulge in the thumb, and I just thought, in time, there might be some joke on.
Didn"t she beat the d.i.c.kens?"
"She did. Oh, Win, you don"t know how she humiliated and hurt me! But I"m sorry, now, that I wasn"t more patient."
"You were, Iris! Here"s proof!
""I put a wee little toad in Iris" handbag to-day. We were going to the village, and when she opened the bag, Mr. Toad jumped out! Iris loathes toads, but I must say she took it beautifully. I bought her a m.u.f.f and stole of Hud. seal to make up.""