THE LANTERN
Mary had no chance to begin reading her Shakespeare until the following
day. But just as soon as she had finished her French and algebra home
lessons, she laid aside those books and seized the list which Aunt Nan
had made for her.
“‘Mem. Read in this order--Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ That sounds good
for a beginning,” she said to herself. “I just love the name of it. I
wonder what it’s about?” Running to the bookshelves on the left side
of the fireplace, where one whole section was devoted to the works of
William Shakespeare, Mary began fumbling among the little red books.
“Here is ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’!” said she, settling herself
in the big leather armchair to read. “Why, it’s full of fairies and
private theatricals! I know it is going to be nice!”
Mary read for some time and found that she liked the play even better
than she had expected. She always liked to read about fairies, of whom,
indeed, the book was full. And the scene of the play-acting was very
funny, she thought, especially where Bottom wanted to play all the
parts himself.
Presently she came to a place in the text where a line was heavily
underscored. It was where Moon says, “_This lantern is my lantern_.” “I
wonder why Aunt Nan marked that line?” thought Mary. She turned to see
if there was anything about a lantern in the notes. And there she found
this remark in the writing which she had come to recognize as Aunt
Nan’s: “_See lantern on mantelshelf._ CAREFUL!”
“That is a funny note!” thought Mary. “What mantelshelf? There isn’t
any in the play. Can she mean--why, yes! There’s a lantern over there
on _my_ mantelshelf!”
Sure enough! Mary had not noticed it especially until this minute.
But there, not far from the bust of Shakespeare, was a queer old tin
lantern, pierced with holes for a candle to shine through--the very
kind that Moon must have used in the play, in Shakespeare’s day.
Mary dropped the book and went over to the lantern, with a pleasant
sense of possession. Everything in the room was hers. This would
be just the thing to play Pyramus and Thisbe with! She took up the
old lantern and examined it curiously. In the socket was the stub
of a candle. “I wonder who lighted it last?” thought Mary idly.
She tried to pull out the candle, but it stuck. She pulled harder,
and presently--out it came! There was something in the socket
below--something that rattled. Mary shook the lantern and out fell a
tiny key; a gilt key with a green silk string tied to the top. That was
all.
“What a funny place for a key!” thought Mary. “I wonder how it got
there.” Then she thought again of the quotation which had been
underlined--“‘_This lantern is my lantern_.’ She wanted me to find it,
I am sure!” thought Mary eagerly. “It is the key to something. Oh, if
I could only find what that is! How in the world shall I know where to
look?”
“Oh, John!” she cried, “John!”--for just then she heard his whistle in
the hall, and she ran down to show him her find.
Up came John; up the stairs two steps at a time, with Mary close after
him. “I bet I know what it is!” he cried. “It’s the key to a Secret
Panel. I’ve read about them in books, lots of times. Let’s hunt till we
find the keyhole.”
The wall of the library between the bookshelves was, indeed, paneled
in dark wood, like the doors. But there was little enough of this
surface, because the built-in bookshelves took up so much space. With
the aid of the library ladder it took Mary and John comparatively
little time to go over every inch of the paneling very carefully,
thumping the wall with the heel of Mary’s slipper, to see if it might
be hollow. But no sound betrayed a secret hiding-place. No scratch or
knot concealed a tiny keyhole. Tired and disgusted at last, they gave
up the search.
“I think that’s a pretty poor joke!” said John. “A key without anything
to fit it to is about as silly as can be!”
“Aunt Nan made some silly jokes in other parts of the house,” said
Mary. “But she hasn’t done so in the library. I don’t believe she meant
to tease me. Let’s go and tell Father. Perhaps he will know what it
means.” And forthwith they tripped to the Doctor’s study, with the key
and the lantern and the marked copy of “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” to
puzzle the Philosopher. They laid the three exhibits on his desk, and
stood off, challenging him with eager eyes.
Dr. Corliss looked at these things critically; then he followed them
back to the library and glanced about the walls.
“Well, Father?” asked Mary at last. “What do you think it means?”
The Doctor hummed and hawed. “Why, I think it means that Aunt Nan was
playing a joke on _you_ this time, Mary!” he said, laughing. “It would
be just like her, you know. You can’t hope to be the only one to escape
her humors. Besides, this key doesn’t look to me like a real key to
anything. You mustn’t expect too much, my girl, nor get excited over
this legacy of yours, or I shall be sorry you have it. I suspect there
are no more gold watches and hundred-dollar bills floating around in
your library. It wouldn’t be like Aunt Nan to do the same thing twice.
It was the unexpected that always pleased her. You had better make the
most of your books for their own sakes, Mary.”
“Yes, I am going to do that,” said Mary, taking the key from her father
and putting the green string around her neck. “I am going to wear it as
a sort of ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’ charm. And I believe that some day
I shall find out the key to the key, if I look long enough.”
“If you read long enough, perhaps you may,” said her father,
laughing. “I have heard that they find queer things in Shakespeare
sometimes--ciphers and things like that. But I never had time to study
them up. A cipher is _nothing_ to me.” And he chuckled at his little
joke.
“If I read long enough, perhaps I may find out something. That’s so!”
said Mary. “I’ll keep on reading.”
“Pooh! That’s a slow way!” said John. “If there was anything in _my_
library, I’d want to find it out right away!”
“If she has put anything in my library, that isn’t the way Aunt Nan
meant me to find it,” retorted Mary. “I am going to do what Aunt Nan
wanted, if I can discover what that is.”
“That’s right, Mary!” said her father. “I believe you are on the right
track.”
Just at this moment there was a queer sound, apparently in one corner
of the room.
“Hark!” said Dr. Corliss. “What was that, Mary?”
“It sounded like something rapping on the floor!” said John, with wide
eyes.
“Oh, I hear sounds like that quite often,” said Mary carelessly. “At
first it frightened me, but I have got used to it. I suppose it must be
a rat in the cellar.”
“Yes, I dare say it is a rat,” said her father. “Old houses like this
have strange noises, often. But I have never seen any rats.”
“It sounded too big for a rat,” declared John. “Aren’t you afraid,
Mary?”
“No,” declared Mary; “I’m not afraid, whether it’s a rat or not. Some
way, I think I couldn’t be afraid in this room.”
“I thought girls were always afraid of rats,” murmured John.