him, following the inscription on the outside of the urn
carefully with her finger-tip, the same as the Dean had done, and
stopping when she came to a small circle in black and red outline.

"Do you suppose Ra lives here, Uncle Cassius?" she asked, poking at it
thoughtfully. She peered on the inner side at the corresponding spot to
the circle, and gave a little cry of excitement. There was the faintest
sign of a circle here also, like one of the age cracks on Cousin Roxy's
antique china. "See," she cried. "When you push on this side, the other
gives a little bit."

The Dean could not speak. He took the urn from her over to the window and
carefully examined the inner circle through a microscope.

"Yes," he said, fervently, "you are perfectly right, my dear. The circle
moves. I think I shall have to take it to Washington on our way east. I
would not take the responsibility of trying to remove it myself."

"Oh, dear, it seems awful to have to wait so long," Kit exclaimed,
regretfully. "You know it seemed to me as if you could just press it
through with your thumb, like this."

She had not intended pressing so hard, but merely to show him what she
meant, and lo, as Cousin Roxy would have said, under the pressure of Kit's
strong, young, capable thumb, the circle of Ra depressed and pushed slowly
through, just exactly as Kit told the girls long afterwards, like when you
plug a watermelon. The Dean looked on in utter amazement, as Kit lifted
the urn and tested the inner section by shaking it. Then she peered into
the circular hole, about the size of a quarter. The urn was fully two
inches thick, and by inserting her finger into the space she found that it
was made in two sections, with enough room between for a place of
concealment.

"There's something in here like asbestos, Uncle Cassius," she began, and
turning the urn upside down, she tried shaking it, using a little pressure
on the circle to separate the two rims. Slowly they gave, while the Dean
hovered over her, cautioning and directing the operation, until two
complete urns lay before them. But it was not these which the Dean
literally snatched at. It was the curious cap-shaped mass which fell out
in the form of a cone. To Kit it appeared to be of no significance
whatever, but the Dean handled it as tenderly as a new-born infant, and
under his deft and tender touch it unrolled in long scrolls of papyrus.

The Dean rose to his feet solemnly, and his voice was hushe