“Guess if I’d waited f’r her to send it,” he murmured, “’t ’ud been the mornin’ Gabriel come! But Jane’s got her good streaks,” he apologized musingly.
Then he lay silent for a moment, feeling after courage to go on.
“Ther’ ’s a letter, too,” he finally hazarded. “Jane said it was about some rich relations o’ yours some’er’s—I forgit where. She said likely they wouldn’t care nothin’ ’bout you, seein’ ’s they never’d known yer, and it would only put false notions into yer head, and so she didn’t”—he broke off, his eyes pleading forgiveness for the woman whose “good streaks” needed constant upholding.
But Polly was quite overlooking Aunt Jane. This astonishing bit of news had thrown her mind into a tumult, and she breathlessly awaited additional items.
They were slow in coming, and she grew impatient.
“What relatives are they?” she prodded. “Papa’s, or mamma’s?”
Mr. Bean could not positively say. He had not read the letter, and recollected little that his wife had told him.
“Seems kind o’ ’s if they was Mays,” he mused; “but I ain’t noways sure. Anyhow they was millionaires, Jane said she guessed, and she was afraid ’t ’ud spile yer to go and live with ’em,—”
At this juncture Dr. Dudley interposed, his fingers trying his patient’s pulse.
“No more visiting to-night,” he smiled, yet the smile was grave and of short life.