A line of print ran around the base, too small to read from anywhere but the floor.

“Do you know what’s inside it?”

“Secrets,” she said.

She led me out by the sleeve, past the hall clock and the powder room door, to the foot of the stairs where the runner ended.

“Uncle Michael,” she said, twice, before I answered.

“Daddy said the little black box has secrets inside it.”

“What kind of secrets?”

“I don’t know.” Her fingers worked the rabbit’s ear.