He brought them and set them on the bed, and Mr. Drake Vernon wrote a letter.
"I'm sending for some clothes," he explained. "May I trouble you to post it? Any time will do."
"Post doesn't go out till five," said Dick. "And we've only one post in and out a day. This is the last place Providence thought of, and I don't think it would have mattered much if it had been forgotten altogether."
"It's pretty enough, too, what I saw of it," said Mr. Vernon.
"Oh, it's pretty enough," assented Dick casually; "but it's precious dull."
"What do you find to do?" asked the sick man, with an attempt at interest.
"Oh, I ride—when I can borrow a horse—and boat and fish—and fish and boat."
At that moment a girl's voice, singing in a soft and subdued tone, rose from below the window.
Mr. Drake Vernon listened for a moment or two, then he asked:
"Who is that?"