She put the letter on the chimney-piece, and went to the dairy; but it was to think about the letter. Her mind kept hovering about it where it stood on the chimney-piece, leaning against the vase with the bunch of silvery honesty in it. What if Walter was ill! Her father would not be home till the last train, and there would be none to town before the slow train in the morning! He might be very ill!--and longing for some one to come to him--his father of course--longing all day long! Her father was reasonable as he was loving: she was sure he would never be angry without reason! He was a man with whom one who loved him, and was not presuming, might take any honest liberty! He could hardly be a good man with whom one must never take a liberty! A good man was not the man to stand on his dignity! To treat him as if he were, was to treat him as those who can not trust in God behave to Him! They call Him the Supreme Euler! the Almighty! the Disposer of events! the Judge of the whole earth!--and would not “presume” to say “Father, help thy little child!” She would not wrong her father by not trusting him! she would open the letter! she would not read one word more than was needful to know whether it came to say that Walter was ill! Why should Mr. Sullivan have put his name outside, except to make sure of its being attended to immediately! She went hack to the room where lay the letter. Her aunt was there still. Molly was glad of it: the easiest way of letting her know, for she would not have done it without, was to let her see her do what she did! She went straight to the chimney, reached up, and took the letter. “Leave that alone!” cried Miss Hancock. “I know what you are after! You want to give it to my brother, and be the first to know what is in it! Put it back this moment!” Molly stood with the letter in her hand. “You are mistaken, auntie,” she said. “I am going to open it.” “You shall do nothing of the sort--not if I live!” returned Aunt Ann, and flew to take the letter from her. But Molly was prepared for the attack, and was on the other side of the door before she could pounce. She sped to her room, locked the door, and read the letter, then went instantly to her bonnet and cloak. There was time to catch the last train! She inclosed the letter, addressed it to her father, and wrote inside the envelope that she had opened it against the wish of her aunt, and was gone to nurse Walter. Then taking money from her drawer, she returned to Aunt Ann. “It is about Walter. He is very ill,” she said. “I have inclosed the letter, and told him it was I that opened it.” “Why such a fuss?” cried Aunt Ann. “You can tell him your impertinence just as well as write it! Oh, you’ve got your bonnet on!--going to run away in a fright at what you’ve done! Well, perhaps you’d better!” “I am going to Walter.” “_Where?_” “To London to Walter.” “You!” “Yes; who else?” “You shall _not_. I will go myself!”