Madison stepped to the door and called him in.

"Mr. Higgins," he said, "the Patriarch has just told me that he has a
grand-niece living in New York, and he wants you to write to her and ask
her to come to him."

"Be that so!" exclaimed Mr. Higgins, gazing earnestly at the Patriarch.
"Well, 'tain't no surprise to me--always calc'lated he must have folks
somewheres. An' I'm right glad now he needs 'em he's made up his mind to
have 'em come. Wants me to write, does he?"

"He can't write any more himself," said Madison. "He seems to think that
you, as the postmaster, as well as the town police official, are the
proper person to do it--and I quite agree with him."

"So I be," declared Mr. Higgins importantly. "I'll write it on the town
paper, an' comin' from the postmaster there won't be no doubt in her
mind that it's any of them bunco games or the lurin' of young women away
such as I've read about, for I reckon perhaps she ain't never heerd of
him before--never knew _him_ to write a letter, an' I calc'late to see
most everything that goes out."

Mr. Higgins picked up the slate and wrote the word "grand-niece?" upon
it in enormous characters; then, amplifying his interrogation by many
gestures of his hands, deft from long practice, he held the slate up to
the Patriarch.

The Patriarch nodded, and Hiram Higgins nodded back encouragingly.