eyes. No, we couldn't see Mr. Pedders. She
was sorry, but he didn't see anyone. If there was any business, perhaps
she could----

"Maybe you can," says I; "although it ain't exactly business, either.
It's a delayed boost we're agents for; friendly, and all that."

"I--I don't believe I understand," says she.

"We'll get to that later on," says I, "if you'll take our word and help.
What we're tryin' to get a line on first off is where and how Mr.
Pedders run against Pyramid Gordon."

"Gordon?" says she. "I don't think I ever heard him mention the name."

"Think 'way back, then," says I, "back before he was--before he had his
trouble."

She tried, but couldn't dig it up. We was still on the subject when in
floats Daughter. She's one of these nice, sweet, sensible lookin' girls,
almost vergin' on the old maid. She'd just come home from her school.
The case was explained to her; but she don't remember hearin' the name
either.

"You see, I was only nine at the time," says she, "and there was so much
going on, and Papa was so upset about all those letters."

"Which letters?" says I.

"Oh, the people who wrote to him during the trial," says she. "You've no
idea--hundreds and hundreds of letters, from all over the country; from
strangers, you know, who'd read that he was--well, an absconder. They
were awful letters. I think that's what hurt Papa most, that people were
so ready to condemn him before he'd had a chance to show that he didn't
do it. He would just sit at his old desk there by the hour, reading them
over, and everyone seemed like another pound loaded on his poor
shoulders. The letters kept coming long after he was sent away. There's
a whole boxful in the garret that have never been opened."

"And he never shall see them!" announced Mrs. Pedders emphatic.

"H-m-m-m!" says I. "A whole boxful that nobody's opened? But suppose now
that some of 'em wa'n't--say, why not take a look at the lot, just the
outsides?"

Neither Mrs. Pedders nor Luella took kind to that proposition; but
somehow I had a vague hunch it ought to be done. I couldn't say exactly
why, either. But I kept urgin' and arguin', and at last they gave in.
They'd show me the outsides, anyway; that is, Luella might, if she
wanted to. Mrs. Pedders didn't even want to see the box.

"I meant to have burned them long ago," says she. "They're just letters
from idle, cruel people, that's all. And you don't know how many such
there are in the world, M