“Well, I hope she won’t die,” said Mrs. Putnam.  “I have left her every dollar I’ve got in the world, and if she should die I shouldn’t know who on airth to give it to.  Well, there, I’ve let the cat out of the bag, and my daughter Lindy, mean as she is about money, would give a thousand dollars to know who I am goin’ to leave my money to.  I wish I could see Alice.  I can’t walk, and that poor, deaf girl can’t see.  Why, Mr. Sawyer, I think she’s the prettiest, sweetest girl I ever sot eyes on in my life, and I’ve seed a good many on ’em.  Now you tell me what you think of her the next time you come up, won’t you, Mr. Sawyer?”

“I certainly will,” said Quincy, “and if she will come with me I will bring her over to see you.  If she came from Boston with her brother, she can surely ride as far as this,” he added.

“Tell her I shall count every minute till she, comes over here, but don’t say a word to her about my money,” said Mrs. Putnam.

“Certainly not,” Quincy answered.  “You did not intend to tell me.”

“No, I didn’t,” acknowledged Mrs. Putnam, “it slipped out before I thought.”

Quincy arose.  “I must go now, Mrs. Putnam.  I have business at Eastborough Centre, and I don’t know how long it will take me, and besides, I am anxious to see Miss Pettengill after your glowing description of her beauty and her virtues.”

“Well, I haven’t put the paint on half as thick as it would stand,” said Mrs. Putnam.  “Well, good-by, Mr. Sawyer.  It’s very kind in you to come and see two old folks like us.  No use saying good-by to Silas; he’s stone deef and besides he’s sound asleep.”

When Quincy took up the reins and started towards Eastborough Centre it was with conflicting emotions.  If there had been no Alice Pettengill to see, his thoughts, no doubt, would have related chiefly to Lindy Putnam, who had never attracted his attention before as she had that morning.  Could Alice Pettengill be as pretty and as good as Mrs. Putnam had portrayed?  And she was to be an heiress.  He was sorry that Mrs. Putnam had told him.  When he was talking to Miss Pettengill what he knew would be continually in his mind.  He was glad that she was to have the money, but very sorry that he knew she was to have it; he had promised not to tell her, but he had promised to tell Lindy.  Mrs. Putnam had not told him not to tell Lindy, but she had said Lindy would give a thousand dollars to know.  Now, was that the same as requesting him not to tell Lindy, and should he tell Lindy for nothing what her mother said she would give a thousand dollars to know?  Anyhow, that question must be decided within the next twenty-four hours.

Then he began to think of his intended visit to Eastborough Poorhouse.  Would the Jim Sawyer that he found there turn out to be his own uncle?  What a sweet morsel that would be for Strout if it proved to be true.  Anyhow, he would follow his father’s instructions and do all he could for his uncle, come what might.