“How is it she never had her likeness taken?” enquired Austin, laying his book aside.

“She did have her likeness taken once; but she didn’t care for it, and I don’t think she kept any copies,” replied Aunt Charlotte.  “It was just a common cabinet photograph, you know, done by some man or other in a country town.  There may be one or two in existence, but I’ve never come across any.  I’ve often wished I could.”

“There are a lot of old trunks up in the attic, full of all sorts of rubbish,” suggested Austin.  “It might be amusing to go up and grub about among them some day.  One might find wonderful heirlooms, and jewels, and forgotten wills.  I should like to hunt there awfully.  I’m sure they haven’t been touched for a century.”

“In that case it isn’t likely we should find your mother’s photograph among them,” retorted Aunt Charlotte briskly.

Austin laughed.  “But may I?” he persisted.

“My dear, of course you may if you like,” replied Aunt Charlotte.  “I don’t suppose there are any treasures or secrets to be unearthed; probably you’ll find nothing but a lot of old bills, and school-books, and such-like useless lumber.  There may be some forgotten photographs—­I couldn’t swear there aren’t; but if you do find anything of interest I shall be much surprised.”

Austin was on his legs in a moment.  “Just the thing for an afternoon like this!” he cried impulsively.  “I’ll go up now, and have a look round.  Don’t worry, auntie; I won’t fatigue myself, I promise you.  I only want to see if there’s anything that looks as though it might be worth examining.”

He hopped out of the room in some excitement, full of this new project.  Aunt Charlotte, less enthusiastic, continued knitting placidly, her only anxiety being lest Austin should strain his back in leaning over the boxes.  In about twenty minutes or so he returned, followed by Martha, the two carrying between them a battered green chest full of odds and ends, which she had carefully dusted before bringing into the drawing-room.  “There!” he said, triumphantly; “here’s treasure-trove, if you like.  Put it on the chair, Martha, close by me, and then I can empty it at my leisure.  Now for a plunge into the past.  Isn’t it going to be fun, auntie?”

“I hope, my dear, that the entertainment will come up to your expectations,” observed Aunt Charlotte, equably.

“Sure to,” said Austin, beginning to rummage about.  “What are these?  Old exercise-books, as I live!  Oh, do look here; isn’t this wonderful?  Here’s a translation:  ‘Horace, Liber I, Satire 5.’  How brown the ink is. Aricia a little town on the way to Appia received me coming from the magnificent city of Rome with poor accommodation.  Heliodorus by far the most learned orator of the Greeks accompanied me.  We came to the market-place of Appius filled with sailors and insolent brokers.—­Were they stockbrokers, I wonder?  Oh, auntie, these are exercises done