"Would you mind, miss, if I just crossed the alley to speak a word
to Mrs. Carleton's girl?" she asked Martha.

"'Course not," replied the child. "You'd better lock the back door,
though, and take the key, for I shall be upstairs."

"Oh, I'll do that, of course, miss," said the delighted maid, and
ran away to spend the afternoon with her friend, leaving Martha
quite alone in the big house, and locked in, into the bargain.

The little girl read a few pages in her new book, sewed a few
stitches in her embroidery and started to "play visiting" with her
four favorite dolls. Then she remembered that in the attic was a
doll's playhouse that hadn't been used for months, so she decided
she would dust it and put it in order.

Filled with this idea, the girl climbed the winding stairs to the
big room under the roof. It was well lighted by three dormer windows
and was warm and pleasant. Around the walls were rows of boxes and
trunks, piles of old carpeting, pieces of damaged furniture, bundles
of discarded clothing and other odds and ends of more or less value.
Every well-regulated house has an attic of this sort, so I need not
describe it.

The doll's house had been moved, but after a search Martha found it
away over in a corner near the big chimney.

She drew it out and noticed that behind it was a black wooden chest
which Uncle Walter had sent over from Italy years and years