"It's the tapestries and old wood, and the bloom on the paintings, I
suppose. But it's good. I like it."
"It's a little musty, perhaps, but--"
She stopped so suddenly that Pats turned toward her. With a look of
surprise she was pointing to the dining-table, close beside them. In the
centre of this table, and very white against the dark oak, lay an
envelope. Upon it had been placed a silver spoon to prevent disturbance
from any possible gust of air through the open door.
"Some one has been here!" And she regarded Pats with startled eyes.
Before touching the letter he instinctively cast a look about the room
for other evidence. While he was doing it, Elinor pointed toward the
farther end of the cottage, to the kitchen table, and whispered:
"Look!"
Upon that table rested a pile of cans, boxes, and sundry packages. For a
short moment both regarded in silence this almost incredible display.
Then Pats took up the letter. On the envelope was no address--no name
nor writing whatsoever. He turned it over in his fingers. "I suppose it
is intended for the old gentleman, the owner of the place."
"And how careful they are that nobody shall know his name."
"There must have been several men here to bring up all these provisions,
and whoever left the letter had no intention of giving the old gentleman
away," and Pats tossed the letter upon the table.
Elinor in turn picked it up and looked it over. "I _would_ like to
know what it says."
"So would I," said Pats. "Let's open it."
"Open another man's letter!" And she frowned.
"It may not be a letter. It may be some information as to when they are
coming again, or what he is to do about provisions or something
important for us to know. Our getting away from here may depend on what
is inside that envelope."
"Yes, that is possible."
"Well, open it."