The walls were adorned with remarkable tapestries in great
gilt frames, testimonials to the industry of Mrs. Caryl during her
girlhood. Here and there, too, hung elaborate souvenirs of departed
members of the family, in the shape of memorial crosses and wreaths of
waxed flowers, also massively framed. They were very imposing; but
Annie had a nervous horror of them, and invariably hurried past that
parlor door.
The little girls usually played together in a small room adjoining the
sitting-room. They had by no means the run of the house. Annie,
indeed, felt a certain awe of Lucy's mother, who was stern and severe
with children.
"I'm sure I shouldn't care to go to the Caryls', except that Lucy is so
seldom allowed to come to see me," she often declared.
On this particular afternoon Mrs. Caryl had also gone out.
"My Aunt Mollie sent me some lovely clothes for my doll," said Lucy.
"The box is up on the top story. Come with me to get it."
Remembering the "funeral flowers," as Annie called them, she had an
idea that Lucy's mother kept similar or even more uncanny treasures
stored away "on the top story," which her imagination invested with an
air of mystery.
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