I sat down at once and began:—
“Dear papa,”—he would never permit me to use a more endearing word. “Dear papa, I hope you will forgive me troubling you about myself and my future. I would like to fit myself for some career or calling by which I might become independent. I could work very hard and study very closely if I were back with my mother.”
As I reached this far, the door opened, and Eccles appeared.
“All right!” cried he; “I was afraid I should catch you in bed still, and I 'm glad you 're up and preparing for the road. Are you nearly ready?”
“Not quite; I wanted to write a letter before I go. I was just at it.”
“Write from Verviers or Bonn; you'll have lots of time on the road.”
“Ay, but my letter might save me from the journey if I sent it off now.”
He looked amazed at this, and I at once told him my plan and showed him what I had written.
“You don't mean to say you 'd have courage to send this to your father?”
“And why not?”