The Diamond Pin

"I suppose so," returned Miss Darrel, preoccupiedly. "When will the services be held?"

"This afternoon at two. It will be a large funeral. Everybody in Berrien knew Aunt Ursula, and people will come up from New York. Now, have you everything you want to make you comfortable in here?"

"Yes, thank you," replied Miss Darrel, after a quick, comprehensive glance round the room, "and, wait a moment, Iris – mayn't I call you Iris?"

"Yes, indeed, I'm glad to have you."

"I only want to say that I want to be your friend. Please let me and come to me freely for comfort or advice or anything I can do to help you."

"Thank you, Miss Darrel, I am indeed glad to have a friend, for I am lonely and frightened. But I can't say more now, someone is calling me."

Iris ran downstairs and found Winston Bannard eagerly asking for her.

"I've unearthed Aunt Ursula's diary!" he exclaimed.

"Was it hidden?"

"Not exactly, but old Hughes wouldn't let me rummage around in the desk much, so I took a chance when he was out of the way, and it was in an upper drawer. Come on, let's go and read it."

"Why? Now?"

"Yes. Look here, Iris, you want to trust me in this thing. You want to let me take care of you."

"Thank you, Win – I'm glad to have you – " but Iris spoke constrainedly, "By the way, Miss Darrel is here."

"Who's she? Oh, that cousin of Aunt Ursula's?"

"Not really her cousin, but a relative of Mr. Pell's. I never knew her, did you?"

"No; what's she like?"

"Oh, she's lovely. Kind and capable, but rather dictatorial, or, at least, decided."

"Does she get the house?"

"She says so. And I know Auntie spoke of leaving it to her, because, I believe, Mr. Pell had wished it."

"What about the jewels, Iris?"

"Oh, Win, I wish you wouldn't talk or think about those things, till after – "

"After the funeral? I know it seems strange – I know I seem mercenary, and all that, but it isn't so, Iris. There's something wrong going on, and unless we are careful and alert, we'll lose our inheritance yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. But come with me and let's take a glimpse into the diary. I tell you we ought to do it. It may mean everything."

Iris followed him to a small enclosed porch off the dining room and they put their heads together over the book.

It was funny, for Ursula Pell couldn't help being funny.

One entry read:

"Felt like the old scratch to-day, so took it out on Iris. Poor girl, I am ashamed of myself to tease her so, but she's such a good-natured little ninny, she stands it as few girls would. I must make it up to her in some way."

And another read at random:

"Up a stump to-day for some mischief to get into. Satan doesn't look out properly for my idle hands. I manicured them carefully, and sat waiting for some real nice mischief to come along, but none did, so I hunted up some for myself. It's Agnes' night out, and I stuffed the kitchen door keyhole with putty. Won't she be mad! She'll have to ring Polly up, and she'll be mad, too. I'll give Agnes my black lace parasol, to make up. What a scamp I am! I feel like little Toddie, in 'Helen's Babies,' who used to pray, 'Dee Lord, not make me sho bad!' Well, I s'pose 'tis my nature to."

"These are late dates," said Bannard, running over the leaves, "let's look further back."

It was not a yearly diary, but a goodsized blank book, in which the writer had jotted down her notes as she felt inclined; something was written every day, but it might be a short paragraph or several pages in length.

"Here's something about us," and Bannard pointed to a page:

The entry ran:

"To-day I gave the box for Iris into Mr. Chapin's keeping. I shall never see it again. After I am gone, he will give it to I. and she can have it for what it is worth. I'll leave the F. pocket-book to Winston. The house must go to Lucille, but the young people won't mind that, as they will have enough."

"That's all right, isn't it, Iris. Looks as if we were the principal heirs."

"You can't tell, Win. She may have changed her mind a dozen times."

"That's so. Let's see if there's anything about Mr. Bowen and his chalice."

"Oh, she only thought of that last Sunday."

"Don't be too sure. I shouldn't be surprised if the old chap got round her long ago, and had the matter all fixed up, and she pretended it was a new idea."

"I can't think that."

"You can't, eh? Well, listen here:

"'Sometimes I think it would be a good deed to use half of the jewels for a gift to the church. If I should take the whole Anderson lot, there would be plenty left for W. and I.'"

"What is the Anderson lot?" Iris asked.

"A certain purchase that the old man got through a dealer or an agent, named Anderson. Aunt Ursula used to talk over these things with me and, all of a sudden she shut up on the subject and never mentioned jewels to me again."

"She talked of them to me, sometimes, but never anything of definite importance. She spoke of the Baltimore emeralds, but I know nothing of them."

"They're mentioned here; see:

"'The Balto. emeralds will make a wonderful necklace for I. when she gets older. I hope I may live long enough to see the child decked out in them. I believe I'll tell her the jewels are all in the crypt.'"

"In the crypt! Oh, Win, you know Mr. Browne said he thought they were buried! Isn't a crypt a burial place in a church?"

"Yes; but a crypt may be anywhere. Any vault is a crypt, really."