The following evening Dr. Morton handed a letter to Alice.
“O dear me,” she said, “do you suppose it’s from Mr. Gassett? No, it’s from Cincinnati. Why it has ‘Fletcher Iron Works’ in the corner—I wonder—you don’t suppose it could be from Uncle Joseph, do you?”
“Maybe he’s dead and has left you something, Alice,” suggested Dr. Morton.
Alice hurriedly opened the envelope, her amazement increasing as she read.
“Why, I can’t understand—why how strange! Chicken Little Jane, did you write to Uncle Joseph?” she demanded, turning suddenly to Jane.
Poor Chicken Little sadly needed Dick Harding for reinforcements during the next three minutes. The entire family turned astonished and accusing eyes upon her, and it was plain to be seen by her flushed and startled face that she was guilty.
But before either Dr. or Mrs. Morton could demand an explanation, Alice had dropped down beside her and was hugging her tight, half laughing, half crying.
“Oh, you darling, how did you ever happen to think of it? Oh, I’m so happy—I can go to school all I want to, he says. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me as long as I live, Chicken Little.”
When Alice quieted down, it took the combined efforts of herself and Chicken Little to explain the situation to Dr. and Mrs. Morton.
Dick Harding had guessed off Uncle Joseph’s character pretty shrewdly. The latter’s pride had been touched at the idea of his brother’s child working out.