"Yes, certainly, if you'd like to hear it," said Jimmy. "Please pull out a box that you'll see under the head of my bed here."
Phaeton thrust his arm under, and pulled out a pine box, which was fastened with a small brass padlock.
"The key is under the dying hound," said Jimmy.
Looking around the room, we saw that one of Jimmy's pictures represented a large dog dying, and a little boy and girl weeping over it. Whether it was Beth Gelert, or some other heroic brute, I do not know. The corner of this picture being lifted, disclosed a small key, hung over the head of a carpet-tack driven into the wall.
When the box was opened, we saw that it was nearly full of manuscripts.
"The last one," said Jimmy, who could not turn from his one position on the bed, "is written on blue paper, with a piece torn off from the upper right-hand corner."
Phaeton soon found it, and handed it to Jimmy.
"It is called an 'Ode to a Horseshoe'—that one over the door," said Jimmy. "I found it in the road the day before I was hurt, and brought it right home, and put it up there."
"Then it hasn't brought you much good luck, so far, has it?" said Phaeton.
"I don't know about that," said Jimmy. "It's true I was hurt the very next day; but something seems to have brought me a great many good friends."