"Tell me what you desire, and speak out," he said.
"Well, I don't desire nothing of nobody. Ask our doctor if I'm that sort of chap; but you come to our house and asked questions about a lady that I know, in a sort of mealy-mouthed way, as if you didn't like to speak out and say to old neighbors, 'She's gone off and I don't know where.' Par didn't know, and consequently couldn't tell. I kinder did; but with the old folks by, and the baby squalling, what could a feller do?"
"Where—where are they?"
"Now there's the question. I want to make a bargain with you."
"Boy, boy, this is too much."
Tom Hutchins looked at him earnestly.
"I'll trust you!" he exclaimed, unbuttoning his pocket in breathless haste, and drawing forth a tiny letter, folded after the peculiar fashion that school-girls affect. "Perhaps you know that ere writing—scrumptious fine hand, aint it? Jest look on the outside—Mr. Thomas Hutchins—don't it look splendid?"
As Tom uttered these words, he unfolded the dainty little epistle, and held it forth.
The captain's hand shook as he received the paper, and a mist came over his eyes before it was read through.
"Mr. Thomas Hutchins:
"Dear Friend:—I take up my pen to inform you that I am in good health, and hope you are enjoying the same blessing. I have got a nice gentleman and lady to live with, and am learning French like any thing. There is a colored man called Jube, and a young gentleman named Paul. They know French, and help me to speak it. I have got your robins' eggs yet, and mean to keep them all my life. Please do not let any one see this letter. I promised you to write the minute we got anywhere; but it was a long time before I knew how people sent letters; besides, I didn't know how to write fine hand then. Direct your letter to Miss Rose Mason, Bays Hollow. It will reach me; for since mother went away, there isn't any Miss Mason but me."