Trains to Netherton were not very frequent, and the boys had to wait some time at the station. They sat down on one of the seats, and David opened his satchel and took out the Latin dictionary. He agreed with the old book-stall man that he had got it cheap, and felt decidedly satisfied with his purchase. As he turned over the leaves, a letter fell out on to the platform. Anthony picked it up. It was a square envelope sealed with red wax, and addressed: "To my son, Leonard." "Hallo," said Tony, "we've got hold of some chap's letter here!" "Great Judkins! So we have!" "Whom did the book belong to?" David turned to the cover, and there, in rather faded ink, he found written: "George Reynolds, Parkhurst Academy, January, 1858." He gave a long-drawn whistle. "Here's a bit of stunt," he said. "Shouldn't mind guessing it belonged to old Squire Reynolds." "Pamela's grandfather?" "You bet!" "Was his name 'George'?" "So Ave said. And Pam's father's name was Leonard." "Then the letter was for him?" "I suppose it was--only he's dead." "What'll you do with it, then?" "Give it to Pamela." "What do you think's inside it?" "Don't I wish I knew!" "Suppose it's a will?" "Exactly my brain wave. Wouldn't it be priceless if it left everything to Pamela?" "And turned old Hockheimer out of The Hall? Rather!" "One never knows. I'll put it in my pocket, and give it to Pam to-morrow morning." The Watson boys sometimes overtook Pamela on the road to the station, and every day they travelled by the same train to Harlingden. They made a point of meeting her next morning, and David handed her the envelope, explaining how it came into his possession. "I suppose you couldn't open it and see what's inside?" suggested Anthony. Pamela looked doubtfully at the seal. "I think I ought to give it to Mother," she said. "I expect she'll show it to me." "Don't let that precious uncle of yours get hold of it, that's all!" warned David. "No, indeed! I'll be careful." "You'll tell us what it's about, won't you?" begged Tony the curious. "If Mother will let me." "Some day, perhaps, you'll be mistress of Lyngates Hall." "No such luck!" declared Pamela bitterly. Though she might disclaim any expectation of good fortune, the remembrance of the letter nevertheless haunted Pamela all day long. She kept feeling in her pocket to see that it was safe. In spite of herself, bright fairy dreams floated through her mind, and mixed themselves up with her lessons. Miss Peters had to tell her twice to pay attention. She missed the explanation of a problem while she imagined herself living at The Hall and riding a white pony, and got utterly wrong in geology through planning how her mother should go up to London and buy new clothes.