Elizabeth went into the first room. It was large and bare and offered no place of storage. She passed into the next and there for a moment she forgot the purpose of her search. The view from the front door was extensive, but from the second floor one could look over a spur of the mountain to the right and see other miles of rain-drenched plain. “There isn’t anything here, Elizabeth,” said Herbert. “No, nothing. Now we’ll try the attic. That’s the traditional hiding-place for documents.” The attic was as bare as the rest of the house. If the family had left any property there, it had been long since removed by the successive renters. Herbert went downstairs for a candle and they crept into the low cubby-holes under the slanting roof. Mud wasps’ nests and spider webs rewarded them. “There is really nothing,” said Herbert drearily. “Yes, there is!” cried Elizabeth. “Here is writing on this beam. I can’t quite stretch to it, Herbert. What does it say?” Herbert dropped the candle from his nervous hand. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed,” said he after a glance. “It doesn’t say anything about the battle.” “What does it say?” “It says, ‘I have built this house the best I know. God bless those who go in and out.’ It’s signed ‘John Baring.’” Elizabeth stood looking up at the inscription. Suddenly a tear rolled down her cheek. “I don’t believe he was a traitor,” said she. “I believe he was a good man.” They went carefully over each beam, and crept again into the dusty cupboards. “Now we’ll go to the barn,” said Elizabeth. “What do you expect to find there?” “I don’t know, but I’m going.” As Elizabeth had left the attic for the last spot to be visited in the house, so she left the barn chamber as the most promising quarter of the barn. It was a large room on the main floor which had evidently been used at one time as a living-room, for there was an opening in the wall for a stovepipe. “I think the hired man usually lived in the barn chamber,” said she. “And I suppose the harness was kept in these cupboards. This could easily be put in order for our chauffeur, Herbert!” Herbert smiled faintly. He had opened the door of one of the cupboards and drew out an old map. “There’s nothing in here but this, Elizabeth.” “Let’s unroll it.” Then Herbert grew white. It was a map of Adams County. From its center Gettysburg and the surrounding country had been cut, or rather slashed, as though it were done hastily with a large knife. “What’s the matter, Herbert?” “Do you suppose he showed them with this, or gave them this piece?” “No,” said Elizabeth. “I prefer to think that some one cut that out to hide or destroy it. They might not have been able to destroy the whole map quickly. It signifies nothing whatever.” Herbert looked at her white face and shook his head.