n there--they have too--see there!"

"Here boys, go slow. Light a match and throw it in and see how much you
can see," Alice counselled.

The match illuminated only a little way and a lone chipmunk darted out.
It was certainly a cave but apparently empty as they heard no further
movement.

The boys tied a half dozen matches on the end of a stick and thrust it
in. This improvised torch worked beautifully. The cave was only a small
affair about three feet one way and five the other--not high enough for
Carol to stand upright. It was so hung with cobwebs they could not see
into the corners clearly. The floor was partly covered with dead leaves
that had drifted in and were fast decaying into mold.

As their eyes penetrated the dimness, three of the children gave a yell
in unison.

"There's something over in that corner!"

The something proved to be a market basket covered with an old
gunny-sack.

Ernest insisted on going after it. Satisfied that the cave contained
nothing else they rushed their trophy out to the light and examined its
contents. It yielded a regular pirate treasure.

"What under the sun?" Alice opened eyes and mouth in blank amazement.
"Children, sure as you're born, we've found that stolen silver!"

The basket was speedily emptied. One silver sugar bowl, four dozen
spoons, two silver goblets, a watch and some small pieces of jewelry
were revealed, besides a package of official looking papers.

"There's Mrs. Jones' pin. I remember they advertised one big pearl set
round with ten little ones. But what do you suppose these papers are?"
Carol and Alice were busy untying them.

"Well, 'pon my soul!--do you suppose we are bewitched?--they've got my
father's name on them. Pinch me and see if I'm dreaming." Alice looked
at the papers in a daze, Ernest and Carol staring over her shoulder.

"They're some sort of legal papers 'cause they've got those big red
seals on them."

"It is your father's name--Donald Fletcher. We'll take them home to
Father--he'll know what they are," said Ernest.

"Yes, that would be best and we must be getting back. Frank will be
waiting for us."

CHAPTER IV

CHICKEN LITTLE JANE AND HER MOTHER

Family prayers were hardly decently over the morning after the picnic
before Jane Morton climbed into her father's lap armed with a fine tooth
comb and a stiff hair brush.

"I'm going to comb your hair," she announced ingratiatingly.

Dr. Morton dearly loved to have hi