Jove! how angry he was! I know now why he hurried me away that night without even waiting for supper. Poor dad! It was right after that he was taken sick. He couldn't use his hands or his feet, and very soon he couldn't talk straight. Something ailed his speech. I remember when he died he was trying to tell me something about this packet. I believe now he was telling me to open it, and go to my mother's people; but I thought then he was just telling me to keep it safe. So that's what I promised him. But it didn't comfort him any. It only seemed to worry him more. You see, I didn't understand. Poor dad!"
"Suppose we take a look at these papers," suggested John Pendleton. "Besides, there's a letter from your father to you, I understand. Don't you want to read it?"
"Yes, of course. And then—" the young fellow laughed shamefacedly and glanced at the clock—"I was wondering just how soon I could go back—to Pollyanna."
A thoughtful frown came to John Pendleton's face. He glanced at Jimmy, hesitated, then spoke.
"I know you want to see Pollyanna, lad, and I don't blame you; but it strikes me that, under the circumstances, you should go first to—Mrs. Carew, and take these." He tapped the papers before him.
Jimmy drew his brows together and pondered.
"All right, sir, I will." he agreed resignedly.
"And if you don't mind, I'd like to go with you," further suggested John Pendleton, a little diffidently.
