“Guess Laurie got lost,” grumbled Ned, kicking one foot against the step and looking across the yard.

George laughed. “Guess you could find him if you went as far as the Widow’s, Nid.”

“Well, he ought to be back. It’s nearly time for the tree, isn’t it?” Characteristically, Ned saved himself the trouble of determining the matter for himself, and it was George who looked at his watch.

“There’s ’most an hour yet. Let’s go and have a look for him. He and Bob are probably at Polly’s.”

But they didn’t get as far as Polly’s just then, for when they reached the corner they descried Laurie tearing along the side yard of the Coventry place. At sight of them he moderated his speed slightly and began to shout, waving both hands in a quite demented manner.

“What’s he saying?” asked George. “What’s wrong?”

“Wants us to hurry,” grumbled Ned. “We are hurrying, you idiot!” he continued, raising his voice. But he hurried faster, George at his heels, and met Laurie at the front gate.

“What’s your trouble?” he demanded. “House on fire? Bob got the croup? What is it? Can’t you talk?”

“Can’t tell you,” panted Laurie. “You’ve got to see—for yourself! Come on!”

He seized Ned by one arm, and pulled him away and around the house and down the bulkhead steps, George loping after them. In the cellar stood Bob, disreputable in his old clothes and adorned with dust and cobwebs, a lighted lantern in one hand.

“Has he told you?” he cried, as the others piled down the stairs.

“Told me? He hasn’t told anything,” gasped Ned, shaking himself free at last. “What is it?”

Bob laughed loudly and gleefully. “Then come on!” he shouted. He dashed into the preserve closet, Ned, George, and Laurie at his heels, passed from sight for an instant, and was seen again crawling through a hole in the wall. Ned and George showered questions as they pattered along the tunnel, but all they received in reply was insane laughter and a meaningless, breathless jumble of words. And then they were at the farther portal, and Bob led the way through, and they followed.

They found themselves in a small cellar-like compartment scarcely four paces square. It was windowless, although, close to the raftered ceiling in the rear wall, two oblongs of brick set in the stone showed where at some time small windows had been. The floor was paved with flat stones. In one corner, the only objects there, were a small iron chest, its lid swung open and back, and a crowbar. The newcomers stared in amazement, the truth slowly dawning on them. It was Laurie who spoke first.

“Go and look!” he said excitedly.

Ned and George obeyed. Within the chest lay four fat, heavy brownish envelopes, bound and tied with pink tape.

“Take one out and open it,” said Bob over Ned’s shoulder.

Ned picked up one. Across one end was written in scrawly characters the inscription “Gov’t.”

“‘Government,’” explained Laurie, softly. “It’s full of United States bonds. Nearly a dozen of them. Have a look.”

“Geewhillikins!” breathed Ned, in awe, as he drew the folded contents into the light. “Old Coventry’s, do you mean?”

“Of course! Whose else? And there are three more lots. We haven’t figured them up yet, but there must be fifty thousand dollars’ worth!”

“Maybe they’re no good,” offered George.

“How do you mean, no good?” asked Ned indignantly. “United States bonds are always good!”

“Well, the others—”

“They’re railroad bonds, all of them, three different lots,” said Bob. “I guess they’re all right, too, don’t you, Ned?”

“Right as rain! Why, the old codger—What’s that?” he asked suddenly, looking ceiling-ward. Laurie laughed.

“That’s what we wondered,” he answered. “We jumped when we heard it first. Don’t you know where you are?”

Ned looked around him and shook his head.

“Under the Widow Deane’s house!”

“Wha-at! But Polly said there wasn’t any cellar!”

“She doesn’t know any better. Look above you. See where the stairway went? The old chap must have torn it away and boarded the hole up; and bricked up the windows, too. It must have cost him a pretty penny to do all this!”

“What—what are you going to do with it?” asked George, pointing to the chest.

“Why, hand it over to the lawyers, whoever they are, I suppose,” answered Bob. “But first of all we’re going to take those bonds and dump them into the Widow’s lap. I always said I’d hand it all over to her, when I found it. I never thought I would find it, but I have—or Laurie has, because if he hadn’t noticed that the shelves were loose we never would—”

“Besides,” interrupted George, “she comes in for a share of the money. Come on, fellows! Let’s do it now! Gee, it will be some Christmas present!”

“Won’t it? Let’s each one take a package,” said Laurie. “We’ll leave everything just as it is for the lawyer folks. Come on!”

“Say, fellows, there’s an awfully funny smell down here,” observed George. “Sort of—sort of sweet, like—like violets or something. Notice it?”

“Yes, I noticed it before I got in here, though,” said Ned. “Wonder what it is.”

“Oh, places like this get to smelling funny after they’ve been shut up for a while,” said Bob. “And I guess this place hasn’t been opened for two years, eh?”

“Of course not; not since old Coventry died. Just the same, it’s a mighty funny odor.” And George sniffed again perplexedly. Laurie, who had withdrawn to the door, unconsciously placed a hand in one jacket pocket, where, within a crushed cardboard box, some fragments of glass were all that remained of Polly’s present! In prying open the lid of the chest he had brought the end of the crowbar against that pocket, and now the purchase was only a memory, albeit a fragrant one.

Some three minutes later four flushed-faced and very joyous youths burst into the Widow Deane’s shop. To the jangling of the little bell in the back room Polly appeared, a very pretty, bright-eyed Polly this morning in a new Christmas dress.

“Merry Christmas!” she cried. “Merry Christmas, Nid! Merry Christmas, Bob! Merry Christmas, George! Merry Christmas, Nod!”

Perhaps Laurie should have felt hurt that his own greeting had come last; but he wasn’t, for a glance went with it that hadn’t accompanied the others. But, although the boys answered the greetings in chorus, it was apparent to Polly that they were there for another purpose than to wish her a Merry Christmas.

“Where’s your mother!” demanded Bob.

“In there.” Polly pointed to the back room, and without ceremony the four filed past and into the little living-room. Mrs. Deane was seated in a rocker, her spectacles pushed down on her nose, a paper across her knees, and her eyes fixed in smiling inquiry on the doorway.

Bob led the way. On the outspread paper he laid a brown envelop. “Wish you a Merry Christmas, ma’am,” he said.

Laurie followed, deposited his envelop beside Bob’s, repeated the greeting, and drew aside to make way for Nod and George. The Widow looked inquiringly from the stout envelops to the boys, smiling tolerantly the while. Boys were always up to pranks, and she liked them, boys and pranks both!

“What are these?” she asked, finally, when the fourth envelop lay in her lap.

Polly, looking over her shoulder, gasped as she read the writing on one of the packets, and her eyes, as round as round, looked across at Laurie.

“Nod! They aren’t—You haven’t—”

“Yes, they are!” cried Laurie. “Look and see for yourself! Open them, Mrs. Deane!”

Ten minutes later, when the first excitement had somewhat subsided, Polly clapped her hands.

“Why,” she cried, “now we know what those sounds were we used to hear, Mama! They were Uncle Peter down there in the cellar! They were his footsteps! And only a little while ago I thought I heard sounds sort of like them! And that must have been you boys!”

“Of course,” agreed Bob. “And we could hear you folks up here quite plainly. There goes my last hope of catching a ghost!”

“How many are there to share in the money, Mrs. Deane?” asked George.

“Dear me, I’m not quite sure.” She looked inquiringly over her spectacles at Polly. “Weren’t there seven, dear?”

“Eight, Mama.”

“Well, even then it isn’t so bad” said George. “One eighth of sixty-two-thousand—”

“Seven thousand seven hundred and fifty,” announced Laurie, promptly. “And the bonds may be worth more than we figured, ma’am!”

“Well, I’m sure,” answered Mrs. Deane, “seven thousand dollars is seven times more money than I ever expected to see! I shan’t know what to do with it.” She looked quite alarmed and helpless for a moment, but Polly patted her shoulder reassuringly.

“You must invest it, dearest, and then you won’t have to keep this place any longer, because when I go to work—”

But, instead of vanishing, the Widow Deane’s alarm increased. “Oh, I couldn’t give up the store, Polly!” she gasped. “Why—why, what would I do with myself all day?”

“Yes’m that’s so!” declared Ned, heartily. “Gee, you couldn’t do that! Why, we wouldn’t have any place to buy cream-puffs!”

“I guess I would keep on with the store,” Mrs. Deane concluded, when the laughter had subsided. “I’m afraid I’d never be very happy if I didn’t have you boys around. Well, it’s certainly very wonderful, isn’t it, Polly?”

“It’s—it’s heavenly!” declared Polly. “This is just the most beautiful Christmas there ever was or ever will be! And I don’t see how we can ever thank you all for finding—”

“Gosh!” exclaimed Laurie. “The Doctor’s tree, fellows! We’ll have to beat it! We’ll leave the bonds here until to-morrow—eh?”

“But I want to see the tunnel and—and everything!” cried Polly.

“That’s so! We’ll come over after dinner. Come on, fellows! Neddie, come away from those tarts!”

“I was only looking,” sighed Ned.

Mrs. Deane and Polly went with them to the door. Down the street the deep-toned bell in the Congregational church was ringing, and, farther away, other bells were joining in a chorus of glad triumph. Mrs. Deane, listening, held a very happy look in her face. On the sidewalk, Ned and Laurie dropped behind their companions, paused, and faced the doorway. There was a quick exchange of glances between them, and then, bowing, Ned began and Laurie finished:

“AMerryChristmasandwell-filledbins,”
“IstheheartywishoftheTurnerTwins!”