On the top of the pile was a letter addressed to her father.
"Rio de Janeiro," breathed Mary, reading the post-mark. "Why, that's where the cable came from!"
She opened the letter…. It was signed "Paul."
"Dear Sir (it began)
"This isn't begging. I am through with that. When you paid no attention to my cable, I said, 'Never again!' You might like to know that I buried my wife and two youngest that time. It hurt then, but I can see now that they were lucky.
"I have one daughter left—twelve years old. She's just at the age when she ought to be looked after. This is her picture. She's a pretty girl, and a good girl, but fond of fun and good times.
"I've done my best, but I'm down and out—tired—through. I guess it's up to you what sort of a granddaughter you want. There's a school near here where she could go and be brought up right. It won't cost much. You can send the money direct—if you want the right sort of a granddaughter.
"If you want the other kind, all you have to do is to forget it. The crowd I go with aren't good for her.
"Anyway I enclose the card and rates and references of the school. You see they give the consuls' names.
"If you decide yes, you want your granddaughter to have a chance, write a letter to the name and address below. That's me. Then write the school, sending check for one year and say it is for the daughter of the name and address below. That is the name I am known by here.