the faint light in the
tool-house? She longed to hazard the suggestion, but Guy and Ida had
already made so much fun of her story that she feared to mention the
subject again lest it should occasion a fresh teasing.

The children found Mr. and Mrs. Ormond in the hall, just preparing to
start out for a walk.

"Mother, we've found the carving-knife!" cried Guy. "'Twas at the bottom
of the pond."

With three people all assisting one another in the telling, the story
did not take long to relate. Mr. and Mrs. Ormond seemed equally
astonished.

"Look, uncle, how thin it is," said Brian. "It must have been ground
down carefully on a stone."

"So I see," was the answer. "It's very extraordinary."

"Most extraordinary," echoed Mrs. Ormond. "Then, who could have thrown
it into the pond?--Guy, are you sure you know nothing about it?"

"Quite sure, mother."

"I don't like to doubt the honesty of that boy Henry," began Mr. Ormond,
"but the thought has just occurred to me that he might, when he was
cleaning the knives, have tried to put an edge on this one, and ground
it too much; then, being afraid to bring it back to the house, have
thrown it into the pond."

"Oh, I don't think that," answered Mrs. Ormond. "I'm quite sure Henry's
honest. I asked him about the knife, and he said he never remembered
having seen it; in fact, as I said before, I don't think he's had it to
clean since he's been here."

"Besides, if he had wanted to put an edge on it, he'd never have ground
the whole blade thin like that," added Brian.

"Put it away somewhere," said Mr. Ormond, "and I'll have a look at it
again when I come back."

The little group dispersed. Brian and Guy went away to mend the boat,
while Elsie, left to herself, wandered out into the yard and entered the
tool-house. There stood the grindstone in its usual place, looking a
very unromantic object indeed; but the girl viewed it with almost
bated breath. She had quite made up her mind that connected with that
grindstone was a mystery in which the poultry-carver was somehow
concerned. What this secret was she could not imagine; but the belief
grew in her mind that if she had been able to summon up sufficient
courage to have crossed the yard that night, and to have peeped round
the door of the tool-house, she might now be able to explain how and
why the poultry-carver had found its way to the bottom of the pond.

She longed to tell the others what was in her thoughts, but prid