"You really ought not to claim everything that is sent to the house, Penelope--as if nobody had any friends or presents but you!" and she rushed upstairs like a whirlwind.
I examined the outside wrapper, lying on the floor, and found, to my chagrin, that it did bear Miss Monroe's name, somewhat blotted by the rain; but if the box were addressed to her, why was the silver thing inscribed to Miss Dalziel?
Well, Francesca would explain the mystery within the hour, unless she had become a changed being.
Fifteen minutes passed.

Salemina was making Jubilee sandwiches at Pettybaw House, Miss Dalziel was asleep in her room, I was being devoured slowly by curiosity, when Francesca came down without a word, walked out of the front door, went up to the main street, and entered the village post-office without so much as a backward glance.

She was a changed being, then! I might as well be living in a Gaboriau novel, I thought, and went up into my little painting and writing room to address a programme of the Pettybaw celebration to Lady Baird, watch for the glimpse of Willie coming down the loaning, and see if I could discover where Francesca went from the post-office.
Sitting down by my desk, I could find neither my wax nor my silver candlestick, my scissors nor my ball of twine.

Plainly Francesca had been on one of her borrowing tours; and she had left an additional trace of herself--if one were needed--in a book of old Scottish ballads, open at 'Hynde Horn.' I glanced at it idly while I was waiting for her to return.

I was not familiar with the opening verses, and these were the first lines that met my eye:-- 'Oh, he gave to his love a silver wand, Her sceptre of rule over fair Scotland; With three singing laverocks set thereon For to mind her of him when he was gone.
And his love gave to him a gay gold ring With three shining diamonds set therein; Oh, his love gave to him this gay gold ring, Of virtue and value above all thing.' A light dawned upon me! The silver mystery, then, was intended for a wand--and a very pretty way of making love to an American girl, too, to call it a 'sceptre of rule over fair Scotland'; and the three birds were three singing laverocks 'to mind her of him when he was gone'! But the real Hynde Horn in the dear old ballad had a truelove who was not captious and capricious and cold like Francesca.