“Had you better tell, then?” faltered Winona.

“Tell?  Certainly not!  But you might very well suggest it to her.  You’ve plenty of opportunities, as you’re living there.  Bring the conversation round to wills, and ask casually if she’s made hers.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!”

“Yes, you could.  You ought to do it, Winona.  The mater stands to lose everything as it is.  It would probably make Aunt Harriet look inside the drawer, and then she’d see her paper was gone.”

“And suspect us!”

“Why should she know we’d had anything to do with it?  The servants might have been rummaging.  I certainly think it’s your duty, Win, to take some steps.”

It was rather fine to hear Percy preaching duty on a subject in which he was so plainly a defaulter.  Winona at first indignantly repudiated the task he wished to impose upon her.  Nevertheless, the idea kept returning and troubling her.  She was sure Aunt Harriet ought to know that the will had been destroyed, and if it was impossible to tell her outright, this would certainly be a means of putting her on the track.  Winona’s whole soul revolted from the notion of speculating upon possible advantages to be gained from a relative’s death.  She would rather let Uncle Herbert inherit everything than interfere for herself.  But for her mother it was a different matter.  Aunt Harriet might wish her goddaughter to receive part of her fortune, and to conceal the destruction of the will might mean depriving Mrs. Woodward of a handsome legacy.  How to make Miss Beach realize the loss of the paper without getting Percy into trouble was a problem that might have perplexed older and wiser heads.

Meanwhile it was holiday time, and there were many more pleasant subjects to think about.  Winona’s Christmas present had been a small hand camera, the very thing for which she had longed during the whole of the past term.  She contemplated it with the utmost satisfaction.  Now she would be able to join the Photographic Club at school, to go out on some of the Saturday afternoon expeditions, and to have a few of her prints in the Exhibition.  She could take snap-shots of the girls and the classroom, and make them into picture postcards to send to her mother, and she could make a series of home photos to hang up in her bedroom at Abbey Close.  There seemed no limit indeed to the possibilities of her new camera.  She guarded it jealously from the prying fingers of the younger members of the family.

“Paws off!” she commanded.  “Anybody who interferes with this Kodak will quarrel with me, so I give you full and fair warning!  Oh, yes, Dorrie!  I dare say you’d just like to press the button!  I’d guarantee your fairy fingers to smash anything!  It’s ‘mustn’t touch, only look’ where this is concerned.  No personal familiarities, please!”