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"Ju's got the idea from her last thriller that the Dutchman who used to live at Greycroft buried his treasure somewhere about the place," explained Patricia to Griffin. "I suppose she'll spend her time grubbing this summer." "And who stole the devil-stick?" asked Etwald, coolly. "If I forget not, major, you asked me the other day if I did." "Better shut the windows there, Miss Pat," he said. "I'll close the doors and then we'll hustle. It's going to be a stunner when it comes.".

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Altogether they were in a happy frame of mind and life seemed very satisfactory to them. As they left the town behind and the dimpling, downy, spring-time country rolled out beyond their flying windows, they became positively hilarious, intoxicated by sunshine and spring. They found Greycroft, Hannah Ann and Henry all equally admirable. The pergola was inspected and found well-composed and attractive, and the site for Patricia's concrete seat was decided on hopefully. The picnic luncheon in the big barn, which Hannah Ann served with great delight while Henry hurried back and forth to the house with warm dishes and reinforcements of delicious food, was a glorious frolic, and even the big black clouds that swept suddenly over the luminous sky did not distress them. "Oh, that is Uncle Jen's greatest treasure," he said, smiling. "He can tell twenty stories about that innocent-looking cane." "Oh, do tell me about it," said Judith eagerly, settling down on a low stool beside the trunk. "Your stories are always so nice and nippy." "Which, as we guessed, meant paralysis or catalepsy," said David. "But, as you see, poor Maurice is dead. Your prophecy was false.".