We opened the old trunk. It was very small, and
there was nothing in it but a big cardboard box.
The box was tied up and the knots sealed with wax.
We lifted it out and untied it. I touched Diana’s
fingers as we did it, and both of us exclaimed at
once, “How cold your hand is!”
In the box was a quaint, pretty, old-fashioned gown, not at all faded, made of blue muslin, with a little darker blue flower in it. Under it we found a sash, a yellowed feather fan, and an envelope full of withered flowers. At the bottom of the box was a little brown book.
It was small and thin, like a girl’s exercise book, with leaves that had once been blue and pink, but were now quite faded, and stained in places. On the fly leaf was written, in a very delicate hand, “Emily Margaret Leith,’ and the same writing covered the first few pages of the book. The rest were not written on at all. We sat there on the floor, Diana and I, and read the little book together, while the rain thudded against the window panes.
I came to-day to spend a while with Aunt Margaret in Charlottetown. It is so pretty here, where she lives — and ever so much nicer than on the farm at home. I have no cows to milk here or pigs to feed. Aunt Margaret has given me such a lovely blue muslin dress, and I am to have it made to wear at a garden party out at Brighton next week. I
