Gyp looked at Jerry and Jerry looked at Gyp. By some process of mental communication they agreed to say nothing about Uncle Peter's ghost. Back here in the softly-lighted, warm living-room, those weird voices and clammy fingers seemed unreal. However, there was the letter--Gyp reached for the Bible. "We were looking through some books--and we found this." Holding the envelope gingerly between her thumb and forefinger, she handed it to Uncle Johnny. He read the address, turned the envelope over and over in his hand. "How strange--it has never been opened. It's addressed to Robert. I'll give it to you." He handed it to Mrs. Westley. She took it with some of Gyp's reluctance. "It's Uncle Peter's handwriting--but how fresh it looks. It's dated two days before he died, John! I suppose he put it in that Bible and it was never found." She tore the envelope open and spread out the sheets. "It's to both you and Robert--read it." My Dear Nephews: It won't be long before I go over the river, and I'm glad--for I am an old man and I've lived my life and I can't do much more, and I'd better be through with it. But I wish I could live long enough to right a few things that are wrong. I mean things that I've done, especially one thing. Lately there isn't much peace of mind for me. I've tried to find it in the Bible, but though there's a lot about forgiveness I can't figure out what a man ought to do when he's waited almost a lifetime to get it. I've always been hard as rock; I thought a man had to be to make money, but now it all don't seem worth while, for what good is your money when you're old if your conscience is going to torment you? Right now I'd give half I possessed if I could make up to a young fellow for a contemptible wrong I did him. So I'm writing this to ask you to do it for me, and then I guess I'll rest easier--wherever I am.