Certainly Ichabod was. He leaned against the fence a minute, and then,
giving it up, sat down on the grass beside it, pulling off his old hat
and fanning himself.

Something else dawned upon Trudy. Ichabod was excited. That indeed
seemed to be the greater cause of his exhaustion, for he sat blinking up
at Trudy in a peculiar manner and tried vainly to speak.

Mrs. Scott and Rosalie had come up, and paused. Too courteous to smile,
they looked their perplexity.

"What _is_ the matter, Ichabod?" said Trudy, again. She began to feel
some alarm. "What made you get up? What _have_ you been doing?"

Ichabod, slowly and painfully, rose to his feet.

"I was calc'lating to git up. Didn't I say to ye I was? Didn't I say I
was goin' to git up soon as ever I could? And what fer did I say? Why, I
was goin' to ask a favor o' Mr. Doolittle--jest a leetle favor."

"Oh!" said Trudy, remembering.

She had forgotten the old man's queer talk about the box in the closet,
and the papers in the box, and his odd eagerness concerning them.

"Seein' you--" continued the old man. "Well, I couldn't stan' it another
minute arter that. I jest got up. I _was_ kind o' weak in my legs to the
fust, but I got thar. I got to Mr. Doolittle's office, and thar he was
settin'. He knows me, Mr. Doolittle does, and I wan't afraid to ask that