d. "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?"

"Most certainly not. That pleasure is left for you."

She eagerly placed the key in the lock, and carefully raised the
cover.

A folded tissue paper lay on top, which she caught up, and the
photograph was disclosed.

"Mamma!" she half