“She looks like a witch!” said John. “See what funny eyes she has!” “Sh! John! You mustn’t talk like that about your great-aunt,” corrected his mother. “She has been very good to us all. You must at least be respectful.” “She was eccentric, certainly,” said Dr. Corliss. “But she meant to be kind, I am sure. I never knew why she refused to see any of her family, all of a sudden--some whim, I suppose. She came to be a sort of hermitess after a while. She loved her books more than anything in the world. It meant a great deal that she wanted you to have them, Mary.” “I wish she had left _me_ two thousand dollars!” said Mary, pouting. “These old books don’t look very interesting. I want to go to college more than John does. But I don’t suppose I ever can, now.” “Books are rather useful, whether one goes to college or not,” her father reminded her. “She needn’t have left you anything, Mary. She never even saw you--or John either, for that matter. She hadn’t seen me since I was married. I take it very kindly of her to have remembered us so generously. I thought her pet hospital would receive everything.” “What do you suppose became of her jewelry, Owen?” asked Mrs. Corliss in an undertone. “I thought she might leave that to Mary, the only girl in the family. But there was no mention of it in her will.” “She must have sold it for the benefit of her hospital. She was very generous to that charity,” said Dr. Corliss. Mary and John had been poking about the library to see if they could find anything “queer.” But it all seemed disappointingly matter-of-fact. They stopped in front of the tall clock which had not been wound up for weeks. “We’ll have to start the clock, Father,” said Mary. “The old crow looks as if he expected us to.” “The key is probably inside the clock case,” said Dr. Corliss, opening the door. Sure enough, there was the key hanging on a peg. And tied to it was the usual tag. But instead of saying “Clock Key,” as one would have expected, this tag bore these mysterious words in the handwriting which Mary knew was Aunt Nan’s: “_Look under the raven’s wing._” “Now, what in the world does that mean?” asked Mary, staring about the room. “What did she mean by ‘the raven,’ do you suppose?” “I guess she means the old crow up there,” cried John, pointing at the stuffed bird over the clock. “Do you suppose she meant that, Father?” asked Mary again, looking rather ruefully at the ominous crow. “Maybe she meant that,” said her father, sitting down in a library chair to await what would happen. “But I believe this is another of Aunt Nan’s little jokes. It sounds so to me.” “Pooh! It’s just an old April Fool, I bet!” jeered John.