A few papers, on which verses and quotations from Books of Sermons
were copied in her mother's hand-writing, lay about; these, and one
parcel which was carefully wrapped up in soft white tissue-paper, were
the sole contents of the centre drawer. Primrose pulled the parcel
from where it lay half-hidden at the back of the drawer. She felt
self-possessed, but her fingers trembled slightly as she touched it.
It was folded up most carefully--the wrappings were kept in their
place by white satin ribbon, and on a slip of white paper which had
been placed on the top of the parcel, and secured by the ribbon,
Primrose read a few words:

"Arthur's little desk--for Primrose now."

She felt her color coming high, and her heart beating. Who was
Arthur?--she had never heard of him--her father's name had been John.
Who was the unknown Arthur, whose desk was now given to her?

She untied the parcel slowly, but with shaking fingers.

The little desk was a battered one, ink-stained, and of a slight and
cheap construction. Inside it contained one treasure, a thick letter,
with the words "For Primrose" written in her mother's writing on the
envelope.

An unexpected message from those who are dead will set the strongest
nerves quivering. At sight of this letter Primrose laid her pretty
yellow head down on the little old cabinet, and sobbed long and
bitterly.