"Jeanne's grandfather died nearly two weeks ago," returned Mr. Fairchild. "Although he is known to have made a will, many years ago, leaving all his money to his son Charles, no such will has been found among his effects. He kept it in his own possession. Unless it turns up--and you can believe me, the Huntingtons have made a pretty thorough search--his very considerable estate will be equally divided between his son Charles and Jeanne--_our_ Jeanne. It is practically certain that the will no longer exists." "I do hope it doesn't, since Mrs. Huntington was so horrid to Jeanne." "So do I. You must tell Jeanne about her grandfather, I suppose; but it will be wiser not to mention the money until we are _sure_. I'm certainly glad we adopted her _before_ this happened. I'd _never_ have consented to adopt an heiress." "Nor I," said Mrs. Fairchild. "I think I'd almost rather have her _poor_--it's such fun to give her things." "Well, she _may_ be, if that will turns up. Be sure you don't tell her." "I won't," promised Mrs. Fairchild. "I'd hate to have her disappointed." That afternoon, the good little woman broke the news of Mr. Huntington's death to Jeanne, who took it very calmly. "Poor grandfather," she said. "I don't believe he _minds_ being dead, as long as he couldn't get well. But Uncle Charles was always very kind to him." "In what way?" "Why, he gave him a comfortable home and that nice James to take care of him, and a trained nurse when he needed one--Aunt Agatha said that trained nurses cost a great deal. I guess Uncle Charles is glad now that he gave his father everything he needed." So Jeanne had not known that the money had belonged to her grandfather or that the house that Mrs. Huntington always called "my house" had also belonged to the old man. She had loved him for himself. Mrs. Fairchild was glad of that. But she found keeping the secret of Jeanne's possible fortune a very great trial. "You _know_, Edward," she complained to her husband, "I never _could_ keep a secret. Do write to that lawyer man and find out for certain." Still, she _kept_ it; but she couldn't resist playing around the troublesome burden. "What would you buy," she asked, the first time she was alone with Jeanne, "if you had oodles and oodles and oodles of money? An automobile? A diamond ring? A pet monkey? Or all three?" "How big is an oodle?" asked Jeanne, cautiously. "That's too much for me," laughed Mrs. Fairchild. "But suppose you had a million--or enough so you'd always have plenty for whatever you happened to feel like doing. Would you travel?" "Yes," said Jeanne, "to St. Louis, to get those children. Sometimes I make up a sort of a story about that when I can't go to sleep. I find a great big chest full of money on the Cinder Pond beach, and then I spend it." "How?"