she--went. But you look consider'ble like
her--wish't I had a picture o' Susie! I wish't I had!" He drew his
breath hard.

Polly patted the wrinkled hand, not knowing what to say.

"But I've got a picture here you'll like," the little man brightened.
"Yer'll like it first-rate."

His hand moved gropingly underneath the bed covers, and finally
brought out the little box that Polly instantly recognized.

"Oh, thank you! How pretty it is!" She received it with a radiant
smile.

Mr. Bean's face grew suddenly troubled.

"Yer mustn't blame Jane too much," he began pleadingly. "I guess she
kind o' dassent give it to yer, so long afterwards. It's locked,"--as
Polly pulled at the cover,--"and there ain't no key," he mourned. "I
do' know what Jane's done with it. Yer'll have to git another,--there
wa'n't no other way." His voice was plaintive.

"That's all right," Polly reassured him.

The pleasure of once more holding the little box in her hand was
enough for the moment.

"I see it in her bureau drawer the day we was first married," he went
on reminiscently, "an' she opened it and showed me what was in it.
Ther' 's a picture of yer mother--"

"Oh!" Polly interrupted excitedly, "of mamma?"

"Yis, so she said. Looks like you, too,--same kind o' eyes. It was
goin' to be for your birthday--that's what she had it took for, Jane
said."

Polly had been breathlessly following his words, and now broke out in
sudden reproach:--

"Oh! why didn't Aunt Jane let me have it! How could she keep it, when
I wanted a picture of mamma so!"

The reply did not come at once. A shadow of pain passed over the man's
face, leaving it more drawn and pallid.

"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 hazarde