Jerry and Dick exchanged glances and Dick’s lips formed the word “money.”
The cowboy said, “Sister Theresa, from the tale of an old storekeeper in Gleeson, who knew your brother well, we have learned that he has a letter for you written in Danish which tells where he left some money for you.”
“I shall be glad to have the letter,” the woman said, her face lightening, “not because of the money which I will use for others, as we here take the vow of poverty, but because of some message I am sure the letter will contain.”
Mary, thinking of the Dooleys, wanted to ask if the money might, part of it at least, be used for them but she thought better of it.
The nun, looking tenderly down at the boy who still nestled close to her, said lovingly, “Poor Little Jackie, how I wish I could keep him here with me, but that would not be permitted since he is a boy.” As though inspired, she told them, “If that money is found, I will give a good part of it to someone who will make a happy home for this little fellow.”
Mary also was inspired. “Oh, Sister Theresa,” how eagerly she spoke. “I know the very nicest family and they’re in great need. Caring for Jackie would be a godsend to them and bring great happiness into his life, I’m sure of that.”
Then she told—with Jerry’s help—all that she knew of Etta Dooley and her family.
The nun turned to the cowboy. “I like what you tell me about that little family. If there is money to pay her, I would like to see your friend Etta.” She was rising as she spoke. A muffled gong was ringing in the inner corridor. The young people also rose.
“I am sure Etta will come, Sister Theresa,” Mary said.
Jerry promised to try to bring the letter on the morrow. The nun, smiling graciously at them all, held out her hand to first one and then another, saying, “Thank you and goodbye.” The little boy echoed, “Goodbye.” He was to remain with Sister Theresa until she had met and approved of Etta Dooley.