"I'll hurry," promised Wren. "You see, this is the important part of it all. When we lived with grandpa he made a beautiful table--I even helped him to make it. There were tiny pieces of wood all inlaid with anchors, oars and sea emblems. I used to dip them in the hot glue for grandpa. Well, there were some secret drawers in that table, and grandpa told me that if anything should happen to him we must explore the table. Well, we went away--it was the time of my own father's death--and when we came back the table was gone." "Who took it?" demanded Cecilia sharply. "Everything was sold--at auction--and no one could tell us anything about the table." "You see," said Mrs. Salvey, "Wren thinks if we can find that table we will come into our own. Father was very fond of daughter, and the other relatives were so numerous that when the estate was equally divided it left very little for us. We thought the table might contain a will--" "I know it did," declared Wren. "Didn't grandpa show it to me once? And now I want you each to sign the promise in my book. I shall read it over for you." The child drew herself up straight, and held the book high between her hands. Then she read "'I, the undersigned, promise most sacredly to do all in my power to help discover the whereabouts of an antique inlaid table that has on either side carved a large anchor, and which has the initials cut on each end, W. S. and R. S.' These were mine and grandpa's initials," she explained. "I was called Wren because his name was Renton." She resumed reading the promise: "'If ever I do discover this table I also promise to notify Wren Salvey immediately.' Then you sign," she said. "There are pen and ink. Mother always keeps them in the sitting-room for me." Belle took the book. Pages were already filled with signatures. "You must have a great many callers," she remarked, taking up the pen to sign. "Oh, I take my book with me every time I go out," said Wren. "Sometimes mother takes me where there are a lot of people. I love to talk to folks." "Of course you do," said Cora, filled with admiration for the mother who so humored the sick child. "And with all those promises, as you say, they must some day become a great, grand call, and so be answered." "I hope you will hear the voice," said Wren fervently, and the day came when Cora remembered the child's prayer. The girls added their names to the long list. Wren required that they repeat the promise individually, and, indeed, it became a most solemn proceeding. The storm had entirely subsided. It was time to be on the road again, and Cora stood up first to take her leave. "We really must go," she said. "We have had a most delightful hour. We shall never forget Wren, and, perhaps, some day we may return to fulfil our promise."