“Oh, what is in it?”
“I don’t know. But he kept tight hold of it even after he was knocked down, and it was the first thing he called for when he regained consciousness. I thought he had better defer seeing you until to-morrow morning; but he wouldn’t hear to it. So I let him have his own way.”
“Have you sent word to Aunt Jane?” inquired Polly, instinctively shrinking from contact with the woman in whose power she had lived through those dreadful years.
Dr. Dudley gave a smiling negative. “He begged me not to let her know.”
“I don’t blame him!” Polly burst out. “I guess he’s glad to get away from her, if he did have to be hurt to do it.”
“Probably he wishes first to make sure that the box is in your hands,” observed the Doctor, rising. “She will have to be notified. Come, we will go upstairs. The sooner the matter is off Mr. Bean’s mind, the better.”
Polly was dismayed at sight of the little man’s face. In their whiteness his pinched features seemed more wizen than ever. But his smile of welcome was eager.
“How do you do, my dear? My dear!” the wiry hand was extended with evident pain.
Polly squeezed it sympathetically, and told him how sorry she was for his accident.
Mr. Bean gazed at her with tender, wistful eyes.