"Huh! Of course I can read," answered the boy. "I've got picture books in my bag the man took. There it is by the door. I'll show them to you." He ran to where Grimes had deposited the bag containing his small personal belongings and, finding it unlocked, quickly had it open. Within were garments neatly folded and a letter to be delivered to the master of the school to which, it stated, one Mr. David Connors had volunteered to conduct him. Stephen took up the envelope in which the letter was enclosed and fingered it thoughtfully. Grimes had not yet opened the bag so he did not know about the letter nor the books. The boy recalled that his benefactress had entrusted the letter to him for delivery. Perhaps Mr. Grimes would destroy it. The thought stimulated him to prompt decision. There was a ripped place in the lining of his jacket. He had discovered it when he lost two pennies inside the lining and had a hard time getting them out. By stretching the opening in the lining he managed to insert the letter. He paused for a moment and knit his brows after the manner of a mature person in deep reflection. Then he reached again into the traveling bag and drew forth a small photograph in a wrapper of tissue paper. This also he quickly thrust into the lining of his coat. The several picture books he secreted in his cap. "I don't guess he'll find them," he whispered to Mollie. "I'll show them to you some other time. I reckon we'd better keep quiet now. They're coming." The Grimes trio were indeed coming. Ambrose, the fat, over-grown four-year-old, stubbed his bare foot on a stone and bawled anew. His father struck him over the head with the back of one of his huge hands. The child yelled louder. His mother picked him up and, bending under the heavy burden, struggled with him, heedless of his kicks and blows, until she reached the house. In silence Mollie and Stephen stood hand in hand and watched the entrance of the family into the kitchen. That kitchen was also the living room. The house, however, was a trifle more pretentious than the average domicile found in such remote parts. It boasted a narrow, steep, inside stairway leading to two sleeping rooms above. They were small, low rooms with sloping, unplastered ceilings but there was a window. In this respect, also, the house was superior to the average dwelling. Most of them had only a heavy, wooden-shuttered opening in the living room. The larger of the two upper rooms provided sleeping accommodations for the Grimes family. Into the smaller room Maria conducted the little "furriners", as she termed the two unfortunate children consigned by fate to her ignorant care. Both were too overcome with fatigue to take much interest in preliminaries. Maria had never heard of night garments. She never mentioned undressing or bathing.