"It's too bad!" he lamented weakly. "I tol' Jane so then; but she thought 'twould kind o' upset yer, likely, and so--" His voice faltered. He began again bravely. "You mustn't blame Jane too much, my dear! Jane's got some good streaks, real good streaks." Polly looked up from the little box. Her eyes were wet, but she smiled cheerfully into the anxious face. "I ought not to blame her, now she's sent it," she said sweetly; "and I thank you ever so much for bringing it." A hint of a smile puckered the thin lips. "Guess if I'd waited f'r her to send it," he murmured, "'t 'ud been the mornin' Gabriel come! But Jane's got her good streaks," he apologized musingly. Then he lay silent for a moment, feeling after courage to go on. "Ther' 's a letter, too," he finally hazarded. "Jane said it was about some rich relations o' yours some'er's--I forgit where. She said likely they wouldn't care nothin' 'bout you, seein' 's they never'd known yer, and it would only put false notions into yer head, and so she didn't"--he broke off, his eyes pleading forgiveness for the woman whose "good streaks" needed constant upholding. But Polly was quite overlooking Aunt Jane. This astonishing bit of news had thrown her mind into a tumult, and she breathlessly awaited additional items. They were slow in coming, and she grew impatient. "What relatives are they?" she prodded. "Papa's, or mamma's?" Mr. Bean could not positively say. He had not read the letter, and recollected little that his wife had told him. "Seems kind o' 's if they was Mays," he mused; "but I ain't noways sure. Anyhow they was millionaires, Jane said she guessed, and she was afraid 't 'ud spile yer to go and live with 'em,--" At this juncture Dr. Dudley interposed, his fingers trying his patient's pulse. "No more visiting to-night," he smiled, yet the smile was grave and of short life. Polly went away directly, carrying the little rosewood box, after again expressing her grateful thanks to Mr. Bean. Down in the office her tongue ran wild, until her mother was quite as excited as she. But there was a difference; Polly's wondering thoughts flew straight to her lips, Mrs. Dudley's stayed in her heart, restless and fearsome. Next morning the injured man seemed no worse, though the physicians still had grave doubts of his recovery. Dr. Dudley, while appreciating Mr. Bean's kind intentions towards Polly, and putting out of account the serious accident, grimly wished to himself that the little man had suffered the rosewood box to remain hidden in his wife's bureau drawer. Of course, Polly was legally his own, yet these unknown relatives of hers,--with what convincing arguments might they confront him, arguments which he could not honestly refute! Yet he carried the box to the locksmith's, and he conjectured cheerfully with Polly regarding the contents of the letter. Late in the afternoon he put both box and key into Polly's hands. "Oh!" she squealed delightedly. "Have you opened it?"