It did not take much thought to decide Ernestine, that she was much abused, and though her usually laggard conscience insisted on being touched, she solaced it by putting the tip in her hat, and seeing how becoming it was, and by trying on the gloves, which were a perfect fit. Then putting them away, she stole off to the garret, to carry out a plan, made in secrecy--that of rummaging the packed trunks there, and perhaps finding something that could be turned into a party dress, which she was quite sure she would need. The garret was roomy and sunny, and all the rest of the afternoon, Ernestine comforted herself, and her abused feelings by hunting among the old trunks, and spinning many gay dreams, wherein she dwelt in luxury, and all that heart could wish. She had selected a pale green silk, and a fine soft lawn from her mother's put aside wardrobe, and her mind's eye saw herself most becomingly, and beautifully dressed in them--if mama would only consent. Over in the corner, something caught her eye presently, that she had never seen before. Only a small dark trunk with an air of secrecy about it; and something irresistibly took her right over to it, with her arm load of gay things. "I wonder what it is," she mused, fingering the lock curiously, and feeling so strange as she did so. "Go away!" something seemed to say imperatively; but she lingered, and fingered more curiously than ever the small key attached to a faded ribbon. "Go away! Go away!" seemed to come again that voice, and she felt it to her inmost soul; but the very realization of an inward warning against it, urged her on. She put the key in the lock,--and hesitated; turned it slowly,--and hesitated again; then broke into a nervous little laugh, and tossed the cover open. [Illustration: "NOW LET'S SEE WHAT'S IN THIS WONDERFUL TRUNK."] "Why I'm as cold as ice, what a goose! Now let's see what's in this wonderful trunk to make me feel so funny; something splendid I guess, but I couldn't help opening it, I really couldn't,--oh dear!" It was of disappointment, for there was nothing there but a queer old basket, a pillow, with a plain little slip, and a worn faded letter on top. CHAPTER XI. WHERE IS ERNESTINE? The odor of hot cakes brought everybody in a hurry, when Kat opened the dining-room door, and shouted, "supper!" as though she was a pop-gun and the single word a deadly fire, and everybody had fallen to work at demolishing the pile of aforesaid cakes, before Bea looked up suddenly and asked: "Where is Ernestine?" Nobody knew, but Kat ventured, that perhaps she was going to supper it, on gloves and feathers. "You better call again, Kat, perhaps she didn't hear." So Kat rushed to the door, and shouted: