She glanced up as she concluded, to find that her companion had lost some of his recently recovered color during her recital.
There was a moment of awkward silence, then the man curtly remarked:
"Well?"
"Waal, the box had come apart in the smash, and I found a lot of letters directed to Cliff's mother and—to his father. I found, too, the papers that told about Mis' Faxon's marriage and Cliff's christening."
"Well?" questioned the squire again as she paused, but with white lips.
"Of course, I didn't read the letters. I thought 'twas none o' my business what was in 'em, but when I saw them certificates I made up my mind that a burnin' wrong had been done that boy—a wrong that must be righted, squire; so, when I got his message to come to take care o' you, I brought that box along with me."
"You did!" exclaimed Squire Talford, in a startled tone. "What have you done with it—have you given it to Cliff?"
"No, sir! You don't ketch Maria Kimberly doin' anything underhanded if she knows it," responded the woman, with considerable spirit. "As long as I found the things in your trunk, I made up my mind I'd tell you about it first and see what you'd do before I went any farther."
"That shows your good sense and honesty, Maria," said the squire appreciatively. "I suppose, however, you think the boy ought to have the papers," he added thoughtfully.
"Of course I do, and that ain't all he oughter have, either," his companion retorted, with stout-hearted frankness.