'Perhaps she made a will,' observed Snaggletooth to my mother. Jane Painter was present, hovering about us with hungry jealous eyes, lest she should be cheated. 'She did make a will,' said Jane Painter, 'and I'm down in it.' 'Then we will find it,' said Snaggletooth cheerfully. My grandmother's desk was opened, and every piece of paper in it was examined. No will was there, nor a word relating to it. Her trunk was searched with a like result. 'Never mind,' said Snaggletooth, with a genial smile, 'we shall be sure to find the old lady's long stocking.' And he set to work. But although a rigid search was made, no long stocking could be found. Snaggletooth became immensely excited. Very hot, very dusty and dirty, and with his shirt-sleeves tucked up to his shoulders, he gazed at vacancy, and paused to take breath. Disappointed as he was up to this point, his faith in my grandmother's long stocking was not shaken; he had it not, and yet he saw it in form as palpable as the lisle-thread stockings of my grandmother, which were scattered about the room. A closer and more systematic search was commenced. The hunt became more and more exciting, and still not a glimpse of the fox's tail could be seen. Under Snaggletooth's instructions the bedstead was taken down, the pillows and mattresses were ripped open (Snaggletooth being determined not to leave a feather unturned), the posts were sounded to discover if they were hollow, and the strictest examination was made of every vestige of my grandmother's clothing without a satisfactory result. Dirtier and hotter than ever, and covered with fluff and feathers, Snaggletooth looked about him with an air of 'What next?' His eye fell upon my grandmother's armchair. Out came the stuffing that it contained, and nothing more. My grandmother's footstool: a like result. Her portly pincushion: nothing but bran. Up came the carpet, and almost blinded us with dust. And then Snaggletooth sat down in the midst of the wreck and said disconsolately: 'I am afraid we must give it up.' So it was given up, and the mystery of my grandmother's long stocking took honourable place in the family records as an important legend for ever afterwards. Jane Painter passed through many stages of emotion, and ended by being furious. She vowed--no, she swore; it is more appropriate--that she had been robbed, and openly declared that my mother had secreted my grandmother's long stocking, and had destroyed the will. Nay, more; she screamed that she had seen the treasure, which consisted of new Bank of England notes and a heap of gold, and that in the will my grandmother had left her three hundred pounds. 'Woman!' exclaimed Snaggletooth, rising from the ruins, 'be quiet!' 'Woman yourself!' screamed Jane Painter. 'You're in the plot to rob a poor girl, and I'll have the law of you; I'll have the law, I'll have the law!' 'Take it and welcome,' replied Snaggletooth. 'I hate it.'