Corinne came rushing home with the girls next day. Margaret, who rather expected her, had been waiting in considerable impatience, and not a little secret dread, for her arrival.

"Girls," she panted, throwing aside her wraps, "it's all right! I had the loveliest time telling Father all about it last night! You've no idea how perfectly absorbed he was in the story! He was like a boy listening to a pirate yarn! I read him all the translation of the journal that Margaret made me, and he was just about wild when it came to the end so abruptly. He thought, with me, that it was best not to take the original from here, because you never can tell what accident might happen to it, carrying it around, but he says he ought to see it at once.

"And, do you know, he said we'd done very clever work indeed, in puzzling out what we had of this mystery all by ourselves! I was so proud! And he said, also, that Alexander deserves special credit for the work he did in finding the secret beam. It isn't every boy who would have had such a good idea. He says Alexander is going to make a bright man, and a prosperous one, too, some day! Where is that youngster, by the way? I want to tell him!"

"Oh, he hasn't come in yet!" exclaimed Margaret, hastily returning to the main subject. "But tell us, Corinne, what else did your father say?"

"Well, I haven't half told you yet! To begin with, he says that we have really stumbled on something very valuable indeed—just as I told you! This journal ought to make one of the most interesting additions to the curiosities of history that have come to light in many a long day. And he says he shouldn't wonder but what it would be very valuable from the money side, too. There are people and institutions that will pay hundreds and hundreds of dollars for rare manuscripts like that, if they're genuine! And there's no doubt but that this is genuine, all right! And he says we may be able to think out where the signet was hidden, too.

"But, first of all, he wants very much to see the journal, and, of course, he must come here for that. He wanted to come and call on your mother some afternoon very soon. But I told him that was not possible, because your mother is away at business all day, and anyway, your mother wasn't a member of the club, and perhaps you wouldn't want to explain the whole thing to her just yet. So he said he would telephone to her to ask if he might stop in here with me some afternoon; and he called her up this morning about it. She said she would be very glad to have her girls meet the father of such a dear friend of theirs. Wasn't that lovely of her? If you all are agreeable, he's coming day after to-morrow, because he happens to have that afternoon free. He will meet the twins and myself at high school, walk down with us, and be initiated into the Antiquarian Club. He says that being shown that wonderful journal ought to constitute a sufficient initiation ceremony, and I agreed with him! Now, what do you say?"

Margaret agreed unhesitatingly, yet in her secret soul she was filled with just the same consternation that she always felt in being called upon to meet a stranger. But she tried to school herself to the ordeal by reminding herself how easy it had been to make the acquaintance of Corinne. The father of so lovely and wonderful a girl ought surely to be no more difficult to meet. Corinne had brought light and pleasure and manifold interest into her drab little existence. Might not the father do the same? Thus she argued with herself as the time slipped by, till at length the day itself dawned that was to bring a new factor into her life.

"Wheel my chair over to the bookcase, please, Sarah!" she commanded that afternoon, when she had been made ready to receive company in the parlor. "I'll read, I guess, till the girls come. Corinne may bring her father to-day, so could you have something kind of nice to eat, Sarah dear?" The woman gave her an odd look.

"Always that Corinne!" she grunted jealously. "Ye be fair daffy over that gur-rl, I do believe! An' now her father's comin' wid her! Why is she bringin' him? I ain't got refreshments fur the likes of them!" She muttered and growled herself out of the parlor, but her remarks gave Margaret no uneasiness. Too well she knew that, though Sarah might fuss and fume over some imagined imposition, she would ascend later with the daintiest of trays and serve the same maligned company with food fit for the gods! So Margaret contentedly settled herself to wait and pass the time by giving the curious old journal one further inspection.

Meanwhile, the day's session at high school came to an end, and, at the gate, Corinne and the twins found Mr. Cameron awaiting them. Whatever mental picture the twins may have had of Corinne's father, they found it very little like the reality. At once they were captivated by his twinkling blue eyes, his crisply curling, slightly gray hair, his friendly smile, and the thoroughly charming way he had of crinkling up his eyes when he laughed. They liked, too, his big, deep voice, his fine, tall, athletic-looking frame (and they wondered how he could be ill so often, when he looked so robust), and the jolly way he had of laughing at his own or other people's remarks. No longer did they wonder at his being such a chum of his daughter's, for before they had gone three blocks, he had become as interested in their accounts of basket-ball as though that game were the chief occupation of his existence.

But it was when he came to talking of their wonderful mystery that he showed to his best advantage, in their eyes. Alexander himself could not have exhibited a more thrilling interest in the whole affair than did Mr. Cameron. And as they proceeded down Varick Street, he branched off into talking of other historical associations connected with the neighborhood; told the most fascinating little anecdotes, pointed out hitherto unnoticed nooks and corners of odd shape and architecture, and explained the probable reasons for their existence. So enthralling was his conversation that they reached their own corner almost before they noticed it. Just as they turned down the street, however, they encountered Alexander. After the renewed introduction, Mr. Cameron voted that they all have a look at the former site of McCorkle's stable, and that Alexander should point out the exact location of the secret beam, long since removed to give place to iron subway-girders.

This naturally captured the heart of Alexander, and before they returned to the house, he was fairly ready to worship, in his boyish manner, this remarkable specimen of a grown man who seemed equally interested in baseball, Indian wigwam-building, hockey, skating, and boy affairs of all descriptions. But Alexander would sooner have been torn limb from limb than confess this worship to the girls!

At last they all approached the house, went up the stoop, and waited while Bess opened the door with her latch-key. The girls thought it rather strange that Margaret was not sitting in the window, waiting to wave to them as she always did, but they concluded that she must have had a fit of shyness, because of the new visitor, and had remained behind the curtains. In the hall they called gaily to her, and were again a little surprised to hear no response. Then they all entered the parlor.

To their utter astonishment they beheld Margaret, huddled in her chair by the bookcase, her eyes wide and frightened, her face bearing plainly the marks of recent tears.

"What is it, Honey?" cried Corinne, the first to spring forward. "Are you feeling ill?"

"No," murmured Margaret, almost inaudibly.

"Well, here's father!" went on Corinne. "You must welcome the latest member of the Antiquarian Club, Miss President! And don't be afraid of him, for he knows you very well!" Corinne said this in a tone of forced gaiety, thinking that perhaps Margaret was really frightened at the prospect of meeting a stranger. Her father shook the little outstretched hand cordially, said some pleasant things of a general nature, and then plunged at once into the important subject of the day.

"Now you must initiate me, Miss Margaret! Show me this wonderful thing you clever people have unearthed! I want to see it so badly that I could hardly sleep last night with expectation, and that's no exaggeration! It's the real truth!"

To the utter astonishment of every one, Margaret burst suddenly into wild tears.

"It's gone! It's gone!" she sobbed. "It isn't there any more!"

"What do you mean, Honey?" cried Corinne, rushing to her and trying vainly to hush the child's hysterical weeping. "It can't be gone! What's happened to it?"

At this the sobbing came with renewed violence, and it was several minutes before Margaret was able to whisper the one word:

"Sarah!"

"What about her? Do you want her to come up?" inquired Bess. Margaret frantically shook her head.

"Childie," said Corinne at last, very gently, "try to calm yourself and tell us what has happened. You'll be ill if you keep on like this!"

After a moment, Margaret straightened herself, with a great effort stopped the sobbing, and spoke:

"I know I'm a silly to act like this, but a terrible thing has happened. The journal is gone! I looked for it in its usual place this afternoon, and—it wasn't there! I hadn't taken it out for several days, and I knew the rest of you hadn't either. I couldn't imagine what had become of it, and I didn't like to ask directly, of course. So I called Sarah up and asked her if she'd been cleaning the bookcase, because I missed something. She gave me just one queer look. Then she said no, she hadn't been cleaning, but if I was looking for that old rubbish I kept back there, I needn't look any more, because she'd taken it all out and—burned it up!" Margaret sobbed afresh at the memory.

"Burned it up!" shouted every one in a chorus of consternation.

"But why under the sun should she do such a thing?" demanded Corinne, indignantly. "Even if it weren't valuable, it seems to me simply cruel in her to destroy anything she knew you were interested in and prized! I can't understand it!"

"Did she say anything else?" asked Bess.

"No," added Margaret, "She just stalked out of the room and downstairs. She seemed awfully mad about something. And I was so stunned I couldn't say a thing. But I just sat and cried and cried till you all came in."

"This all seems very extraordinary!" began Mr. Cameron. "And it is the more so to me, because I have always understood Corinne to say that Sarah was devoted to all of you, especially to Miss Margaret. As Corinne suggests, it would appear simply wanton cruelty in her to deliberately destroy anything she knew her favorite prized. Maybe there is something we haven't understood. Perhaps the woman hasn't really burned the thing up—is only trying to tease you. Would there be any objection to our seeing her, and perhaps putting a few questions?"

"None at all!" declared Bess, though she secretly felt that there might be many. And with some very uncomfortable qualms, she rang the bell that Margaret always kept by her side. In two minutes they heard the heavy footsteps of Sarah on the basement stairs, and in two more she had opened the parlor door and stood before them.

"Is anything the matter?" she inquired as her hostile glance swept the room and its occupants. But they all noticed that her manner lacked its usual assurance, and that she was decidedly ill at ease.

"We were wondering if you could explain what became of Miss Margaret's papers and blank-books," began Mr. Cameron, constituting himself spokesman. "She tells me you have removed them. They are rather interesting, and I had come to-day on purpose to see them."

At this Sarah uncorked the vials of her wrath.

"Ye do well to be askin' afther them dur-rty owld bits of paper filled so full wid ger-rms they was probably fightin' to hang on! I told her I'd bur-rned them up, an' I told the truth. If she don't get the typhoid-new-mon-i-ay, it won't be fur want of hangin' over them mouldy rags day afther day! I been watchin' her, an' don't ye fergit it! She ain't been well this month past—ever fur her. I guess she ain't told ye I'm up wid her the better part of every night wid the pain in her back! Even the docther don't know what's the matter wid her, she's ailin' so much worse lately. I ain't watched her all her life fur nuthin', an' I been watchin' her closer than ever lately, though she didn't guess it. I usually come up them stairs like a rhinoceros-horse—I know that! But I can come up pretty soft when I choose—an' take the time! I seen her draggin' these things out from behind the books, an' shovin' 'em back if she thought any one was comin', an' breakin' her poor back bendin' over 'em, studyin' 'em's though they wus made of gold! An' I says to meself, this has got to stop! So I jest took 'em out the other day an' burned up the whole clamjamfray of 'em. An' ye kin say what ye like about their bein' interestin',—I don't believe it! The dur-rty, disgustin' owld rubbish!" And with this final shot, Sarah turned and tramped heavily out of the room, leaving an astonished and speechless group behind her.

The remaining time that Corinne and her father were there was spent in comforting Margaret. There was no denying that Sarah had finally, definitely, and fatally ruined every hope they had cherished of disclosing to the world a new and startling historical discovery. And Mr. Cameron was more bitterly disappointed than he dared to show. But he tried to cheer Margaret as best he could, and when he came to go, he left her with this pleasant consolation:

"Never mind about the original journal now. That's gone, and no good ever did come of crying over spilt milk! Remember that the mystery remains, just as good as ever it was, and it is still the business of the Antiquarian Club to solve it! I, the latest member, am just as interested as the rest of you. Some day—mark my words!—we're going to fit the pieces of this puzzle together!"