Jingling her keys happily, Jannet went up the attic stairs, which led from the second floor back hall by a door not far from Paulina’s room. More than once she had heard Jan and Chick clattering down the two flights, first the attic stairs, banging the door shut, then the back stairs from the second floor to the first. If they were not afraid to be up there, why should she be afraid of the attic?

She did wish for Nell, though on second thought she came to the conclusion that it was just as well for her to investigate alone first. There might be things that some one outside the family could not appreciate. Family was a big thing to Jannet just now. Had she not just acquired one?

Inserting her key in the lock of the door opposite Jan’s den, she found that it did not turn anything in the right direction to unlock it. She immediately tried the door and found that it was already unlocked. “H’lo, P’lina,” she said, for there was Paulina, bending over a small trunk, her own, without doubt. “Do you keep some things up here, too? Aren’t you afraid of the ghost?” Jannet was laughing as she spoke, but Paulina straightened up and favored Jannet with a stony stare. Then without a word she bent again and locked her trunk.

Jannet stood quietly, looking around at boxes and trunks neatly placed in this part of the attic, and at dim shapes further along, where boards had been laid over the rafters and lath.

“You ought not to be up here,” hoarsely said Paulina at last. “I’m going now; come. I want to lock the attic door.”

“I asked Uncle Pieter for permission,” Jannet returned, “and Cousin Diana gave me these keys. I did not expect to find any one at all here.”

Jannet dangled her keys before Paulina’s eyes. “Why don’t you think I ought to be here, Paulina? If there is anything wrong with the place, Uncle Pieter ought to be told.”

“Your uncle knows all that he wants to know,” replied Paulina. She frowned and was obviously displeased at Jannet’s being there. Jannet wondered what she would have thought if Nell had come, too. But Paulina could just get over thinking that she could run everything.

At Miss Hilliard’s school, Jannet was in the habit of obedience to her elders. Here, too, she respected the authority of her uncle and her cousins, but beyond them, Jannet’s Dutch independence asserted itself.

“I’m sorry, Paulina,” Jannet said courteously, “that you don’t want me to be in the attic, but I have every right to be here and I shall stay. You need not be worried about anything of yours. I shall not touch your trunk, and if you will tell me what else is yours, I will certainly keep away from it.”

But Paulina made no reply. She stalked out with her usual stiffness, leaving the door open.

“Of all the impolite people, you are the worst I ever saw,” thought Jannet, but she did not say it aloud. Perhaps, after all, Paulina’s silence was better than harsh words.

The field was Jannet’s. What should she do first? She did not quite like to explore the dim recesses, beyond the wider, well floored part, when she was by herself. Perhaps she would reserve that till Nell could be with her. There was a window in this part, shut and fastened with a nail, loosely pushed in. Jannet pulled out the nail, raising the old, small-paned window and finding that it would not stay up. But she saw a piece of wood that must have been used for the purpose and with this she propped the window, letting the fresh air in and also increasing the amount of light, for there was a calico curtain over the window panes, tacked to the frame.

It was quite neat here, not newly mopped or fresh as the other parts of the house were, but the floor had been swept back as far as the rows of trunks and chests extended. Jannet’s eye was caught by an old single bed, whose length extended along one wall, away from the window. On this were bundles, of odd sizes, she guessed, from the different bulges in the old cover over the whole, a piece of yellowed, gay-figured percale, or muslin of a sort.

A rickety rocking-chair, of modern make, and a tall, gray-painted cupboard were the only pieces of furniture that Jannet could see. It was quite evident that her uncle had had all the valuable furniture of an older day put into use, keeping no useless articles to fill the attic. Even the old, old cradle stood in the old kitchen, not far from the old, old settle, with its rockers, too.

Jannet’s eye, which had become practiced by this time among the so-called antiques, recognized something good in the narrow bed against the wall. That was an old-timer, too; but there was, perhaps, no place for it, or it was not quite ancient enough. Jannet lifted the gay cover to peer beneath. One bundle, newly tied in newspapers not quite covering the contents, showed comforters, put away now for the warmer season. Bundles of longer standing showed dingy in muslin covers.

These, surely, were not interesting. A long, painted chest whose lock was broken, disclosed piles of extra sheets, pillow cases and other stores of the same kind, when Jannet lifted its worn lid. But the trunks were more attractive in possibilities, and Jannet tried to read the names or letters on their sides. Here was one that must have been her grandmother’s and this big one had her mother’s initials upon it. She would open that pretty soon. And oh, what odd little things those were in the corner, two square, black trunks, if you could call them that. They were more like boxes in size, but they had all the straps of a trunk. And if there wasn’t a little old hair trunk under the two of them! It was a wonder that Uncle Pieter had not taken it down into the kitchen!

Jannet decided to open her mother’s trunk and looked through her keys, trying several before she found one which would fit the lock. Her mother might have put away the contents just before her marriage, thinking that she would soon be home again to look them over. Jannet pulled the trunk out from the rest, opened the top and drew up the rickety rocking-chair, which she tried carefully before trusting herself to it.

Comfortably seated, with a few rays of the afternoon sunlight coming over her shoulder to the trunk, Jannet commenced her survey. There were all sorts of “cubbies” in this trunk. One in the very top of the trunk opened down, when one loosened a leather strap from a button. But in this there were only a handful of flowers ripped from some hat, some pink roses, still very pretty, and a wreath of yellow buttercups and green leaves. Jannet decided to get a big sun hat and wear that wreath this summer.

In the top tray, two hats, perfectly good, but of a style impossible to wear now, occupied the compartment for hats, with several veils and more French flowers. Some letters were loosely packed in along the sides, with some foreign postcards, much scribbled.

In the compartment next, there were a pile of old music, some note books, photographs, more letters, and over all a sheer white organdy dress, washed but not ironed, and pressed in irregularly to fill the compartment.

Jannet lifted out this tray to find another beneath it. Ah, here were pretty things! Neatly folded, a light blue silk lay on top, covered with a linen towel. A lace and net dress was beneath this. Jannet did not disturb the folds. These could be examined when she had more of the day before her.

In the lower part of the trunk, Jannet found more pretty clothes and a box containing her mother’s wedding veil. This, indeed, she drew out, handling it with a certain reverence. Yes, it was the veil in the picture, delicate, with rose point lace and the pretty crown still as it had been worn except for the orange blossoms. These Jannet found lying in another box among the dresses. Dry and ready to fall to pieces at a touch, they were easily recognized, nevertheless.

Touched and silent, Jannet sat still for a few moments, the veil half out of the box in her hands, the little box with the orange blossoms open beside her. It was sad, but it was worth everything to have these things that made her mother so real, her pretty mother!

For a little while Jannet sat and read a few of the letters. It could do no harm. They were from girl friends, some of them to accompany wedding presents or to announce their impending arrival. “May you have a long and happy life together,” said one. “Douglas is a dear. I had an eye on him myself, but it was of no use, with you singing the heart out of him!”

Girls then were much as they were now, Jannet thought. From her short span of years it did seem so long ago.

Pulling out her mother’s trunk had disclosed a small box behind it, a pretty box of dark wood, stained and rubbed like the nice furniture of the house. The lock was of gilt, a little discolored, but the whole looked like something valuable, or at least interesting. Jannet tried all her keys without success and then, without thinking more of the box, she went back to the trunk, becoming deeply engaged in the contents of a little pasteboard box which was full of funny notes and the treasures of her mother’s younger days. There was even a tiny doll, dressed in a wee silken dress with a train. And in the bottom of the box there was a brass key,—the very one which might fit the little dark box. Replacing the pasteboard box, Jannet with some curiosity tried the key and found that it opened the other box.

A piece of old muslin covered the contents. This Jannet raised to find an old doll with a cloth body, some doll clothes, stained and faded and under these some doll dishes, carefully packed.

These could not have been her mother’s. They were too old, too odd. Suddenly it seemed lonesome. Jannet began to feel nervous and depressed. She blamed herself for being a little goose, not in the least realizing that a sensitive girl of her sympathies could not help having her feelings worn upon a little by all this.

Jumping up from locking the little box again, Jannet closed the trunk which was proving to be such a treasure chest. She had scarcely disturbed part of it, and there were other delightful possibilities in prospect before her. She must have Nell over soon, for while she could go on by herself, and in a way she preferred to find her mother’s things by herself, still,—Nell was sensible, smart and good company. She would take an interest, too, in discovering any source of ghostly revels. If Nell were afraid, this part of the attic, at least, offered no signs of anything but ordinary storage.

Now, if she could only conciliate Paulina in some way and hear all that “old P’lina” thought about it. That was a good plan! She would try it!