"'Now, mother,' he says, 'I want you to hide this 'ere box in one of them little cupboards in the chimney corner till I send for it. I'm a-going to Ameriky,' he says, 'and when we're settled there and have got a home of our own, I'll write you word where to send it.'
"'Can't you take it with you?' I says. 'It isn't big, and it won't take much room in your boxes.'
"'No,' he says; 'I'd rather you sent it, mother, and I'll let you have the address. Old Enoch will direct it for you. You can tell him it's something as Carrie left behind her.'
"Well, my dear, it seemed a stroke of good luck for me, didn't it now? And then he said they must go; but Carrie begged and prayed him to let her stay just one night with me, as she was going so far away, and might never see her old mother again."
"And did he let her?"
"He wouldn't at first; but Carrie cried, my dear. And at last he gave in, and said she was to follow him the next day. Well, we went to bed, Carrie and me, dearie, and when she was lying beside me that night, I told her I did not much like having charge of that tin box, because folks might rob an old woman like me. And I asked her did she think it was jewels, or what was it?"
"What did she say?"
"She said it was naught but paper—some letters, she said—and then she began to cry. So I asked her what was the matter, dear. And she said she didn't like it at all; but they wouldn't listen to what she said."
"Who wouldn't?"
"Him and his sister. They'd stole this 'ere letter from some one as his sister lived with. She stole it, I believe, and then he took it and raised money on it."