They visited dining-room and kitchen and pantry, and the room that was to be Dr. Corliss’s study. Then they climbed the stairs to the bedroom floor, where there were three pretty little chambers. They took a peep into the attic; but even there, in the crowded shadows and cobwebs, nothing mysterious happened. It was a nice old house where the family felt that they were going to be very happy and contented. Down the stairs they came once more, to the door of the ell which they had not yet visited. It was a brown wooden door with a glass knob. “Well, here is your domain, Mary!” said Dr. Corliss, pausing and pointing to the door with a smile. “This is your library, my daughter. Have you the key ready?” Yes, indeed, Mary had the key ready; a great key tagged carefully,--as all the other keys of Aunt Nan’s property had been,--this one bearing the legend: “LIBRARY. Property of Mary Corliss.” “Here is the key, Father,” said Mary, stepping up proudly. “Let me put it in myself. Oh, I hope there are no horrid jokes in here!” And she hesitated a moment before fitting the key in the lock of her library--her very own library! CHAPTER II THE LIBRARY According to the will left by that eccentric old lady, Miss Nan Corliss, her nephew, Dr. Corliss,--whom she had not seen for thirty years,--was to receive the old house at Crowfield. His wife inherited all the furniture of the old house, except what was in the library. John Corliss, the only grandnephew, was to have two thousand dollars to send him to college when he should be old enough to go. And to Mary, the unknown grandniece whom she had never seen, Aunt Nan had declared should belong “my library room at Crowfield, with everything therein remaining.” Mary was now going to see what her library was like, and what therein remained. She drew a long breath, turned the key, pushed open the door, and peered cautiously into the room, half expecting something to jump out at her. But nothing of the sort happened. John pushed her in impatiently, and they all followed, eager, as John said, to see “what sister had drawn.” Dr. Corliss himself had never been inside this room, Aunt Nan’s most sacred corner. What they saw was a plain, square room, with shelves from floor to ceiling packed tightly with rows of solemn-looking books. In one corner stood a tall clock, over the top of which perched a stuffed crow, black and stern. In the center of the room was a table-desk, with papers scattered about, just as Aunt Nan had left it weeks before. On the mantel above the fireplace was a bust of Shakespeare and some smaller ornaments, with an old tin lantern. Above the Shakespeare hung a portrait of a lady with gray curls, in an old-fashioned dress, holding a book in her hand. The other hand was laid upon her breast with the forefinger extended as if pointing. “Hello!” said Dr. Corliss when he spied the portrait, “this is Aunt Nan herself as she looked when I last saw her; and a very good likeness it is.”