“A grand old house, with big rooms and wide halls and fine views,” she said. Sherry’s great-grandmother, Mrs. Crosby, was a beautiful lady, with lovely clothes. “Her wedding dress was a cream brocade,” she continued, “with roses scattered over it, and would almost stand alone, and there was some rich lace with it and some jewels, and she looked like a queen at a reception your uncle gave. All the élite of the different hotels were there, with an ex-governor, and we lighted a hundred wax candles, and the affair was long talked of as the great Crosby party. Your grandmother died the next winter, and Uncle Crosby had her gowns and laces and jewels put away in a big cedar chest, where she kept her best linen. I was there once for a day after I was married. Mr. Marsh owned the place then. He had bought it of your grandfather Crosby, who soon after was killed in a railway accident. They are both buried in a little enclosure on the hillside opposite the house,—Mr. and Mrs. Crosby, I mean,—and Mr. Marsh erected a monument to their memory. You’ll see it, and the chest, if it hasn’t been taken away. It is more than thirty years since I was there. The place has been rented since and abandoned, and there’s no telling what is there and what isn’t. The gowns and things belong to you and Kate. Mr. Marsh told me I could have them, but as I was Mr. Crosby’s niece, not Mrs. Crosby’s, they didn’t belong to me, I said; if Cousin Henry,—that was your father,—ever married, they should go to his wife and children if he had any, I said. ‘All right,’ he answered, but most likely forgot it, he was so absent-minded and queer. Did your mother ever get anything?” “Never that I know of. I think, though, I have heard that father received something when studying for the ministry. Mr. Marsh sent it, perhaps,” was Sherry’s reply, and Mrs. Pledger went on: “That would be like him. People wondered what became of the money he paid Mr. Crosby for the farm. Probably your grandfather spent it or gave it away. He was very free handed, and there was barely enough to pay funeral expenses and outstanding debts. If you find the chest, ask Mr. Marsh to open it. The key used to hang on a big tack driven in the back of the chest. It may be there now, though it’s a miracle if it is. The things belong to you and Katy. Tell Mr. Marsh I said so. He has heard of your uncle if he hasn’t of me. Everybody knows Joel by reputation and he knows everybody. The Marshes are first class people,—not fast,—at least the young man isn’t. He is a friend of Craig Saltus, you know.” Mrs. Pledger had talked very rapidly, while Sherry listened with absorbing interest, more glad than ever that she was going to what was once her great grandfather’s home, and in which she felt she had some rights, especially in the cedar chest, if it was still in existence. She doubted, though, if she should speak of her relationship to Mr. Crosby or the Pledgers.