"I won't," promised Mrs. Fairchild. "I'd hate to have her disappointed."
That afternoon, the good little woman broke the news of Mr. Huntington's death to Jeanne, who took it very calmly.
"Poor grandfather," she said. "I don't believe he minds being dead, as long as he couldn't get well. But Uncle Charles was always very kind to him."
"In what way?"
"Why, he gave him a comfortable home and that nice James to take care of him, and a trained nurse when he needed one—Aunt Agatha said that trained nurses cost a great deal. I guess Uncle Charles is glad now that he gave his father everything he needed."
So Jeanne had not known that the money had belonged to her grandfather or that the house that Mrs. Huntington always called "my house" had also belonged to the old man. She had loved him for himself. Mrs. Fairchild was glad of that. But she found keeping the secret of Jeanne's possible fortune a very great trial.
"You know, Edward," she complained to her husband, "I never could keep a secret. Do write to that lawyer man and find out for certain."
Still, she kept it; but she couldn't resist playing around the troublesome burden.
"What would you buy," she asked, the first time she was alone with Jeanne, "if you had oodles and oodles and oodles of money? An automobile? A diamond ring? A pet monkey? Or all three?"
"How big is an oodle?" asked Jeanne, cautiously.