"Well, well!" repeated Mr. Waddle.
"And here's something written," said Mrs. Waddle, taking a paper from a pocket at the back of the purse.
"Read it, Ma—out loud! I don't care," said Obie generously.
So Ma read it in a voice that trembled a little:
My Dear Nephew:—If I count rightly, it is thirteen years since your good mother labelled you Obadiah. I'm not near enough to give you thirteen slaps—I wish I were—so I send you thirteen dollars, and one to grow on. Never mind returning the dollar with the hole in it—keep it for your grandchildren to cut their teeth on. Give my love to your parents and little sister; and if you look the purse through closely, I think you will find something of interest to your mother. It is about time she paid our old Vermont a visit. Be a good boy.
Your affectionate uncle,
Obadiah Brown.
"Oh, that blessed brother!" cried Mrs. Waddle, wiping her eyes with her apron.
Obie seized the purse and examined it on all sides. It was a very wizard of a purse, for another little flat pocket was found in its inmost centre, and from it Obie drew out another bit of folded paper and opened it.
"Why, it's a check!" shouted Mr. Waddle. "A check for you, Mary, for—two—hundred—dollars! My! There's a brother for you!"