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that received the light of day, for the two little windows like staring eyes were not boarded up. So dim were they, however, with dirt and cobwebs, that very little daylight filtered through.
    But the attio had no great holding interest at present, since it was evident that it contained no clue to help them in the solution of the mystery. And they soon left it, to search anew every room below, in the hope of coming upon the missing key.
    â€œThese old-fashioned keys are so immense that it hardly seems possible that any one would carry one off—far,” conjectured Joyce. “But why in the world should just that room be locked, anyway? What can be hidden there? I’m wild,—simply wild with impatience to see it all!
    The search for the key was not exactly systematic. Neither of the girls felt at liberty to open bureau-drawers or pry into closets and trunks. Besides, as Cynthia wisely suggested, it was not likely that any one would lock a door so carefully and then put the key in a drawer or trunk or on a shelf. They would either carry it away with them or lay it down, forgotten, or hide it in some unusual place. If it had been carried away, of course their search was useless. But if it had been thoughtlessly laid aside somewhere, or even hidden away in some obscure corner, there was a possibility that they might come upon it.
    With this hope in mind, they went from room to room, searching on desks, chairs, and tables, poking into dark comers, peeping into vases and other such receptacles, and feeling about under the furniture; but all to no purpose. They came at last to the great bedroom where were so many signs of agitation and hurried departure, deciding that here would be the most likely field for discovery. Goliath had evidently preceded them, for they found him once more curled up on the soft rug before the fireplace. He seemed to prefer this comfortable spot to all others, but he rose and stretched when the girls came in. Joyce went straight for the chimneyplace.
    â€œI’m going to poke among these ashes,” she announced. “A lot of things seem to have been burned here, mostly old letters. Who knows but what the key may have been thrown in too!” She began to rake the dead ashes, and suddenly a half-burned log fell apart, dropping something through to the bottom with a “chinking” sound.

    â€œWell, what do you suppose that can be?” queried Cynthia
    â€œDid you hear that?” she whispered. “Something clinked! Ashes or wood won’t make that sound. Oh, suppose it is the key!” She raked away again frantically, and hauled out a quantity of charred debris, but nothing even faintly resembling a key. When nothing more remained, she poked the fragments disgustedly, while Cynthia looked on.
    â€œSee there!” Cynthia suddenly exclaimed. “It isn’t a key, but what’s that round thing?” Joyce had seen it at the same moment and picked it up—a small, elliptical disk so blackened with soot that nothing could be made of it till it was wiped off. When freed from its coating of black, one side proved to be of shining metal, probably gold, and the other of some white or yellowish substance, the girls could not tell just what. In the center of this was a curious smear of various dim colors.
    â€œWell, what do you suppose that can be?” queried Cynthia.
    â€œI can’t imagine. Whatever it was, the fire has pretty well finished it. You can see that it must have been rather valuable once,—there’s gold on it. Here’s another question to add to our catechism: what is it, and why was it thrown in the fire? Whatever it was, it doesn’t help much now. If it had only been the key!—Good gracious! is that a rat?” Both girls jumped to their feet and stood listening to the strange sounds that came from under the valance hanging about the bottom of the great four-poster bed. It was a curious, intermittent, irregular