"That he will. We'll take all these papers to him," said Cynthy, gathering them up.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE GHOST.
Mr. Morton was much affected when they placed in his hands the handwriting of his long-lost brother, and he perceived that Gerald had at least been thinking of him and beginning a communication to him. There was no longer any doubt about the matter, his only brother had lived in that poor frame-house for weeks together, and had fled from it under suspicion of a terrible crime. That the suspicion was utterly false could now be proved, thanks to Cyril and Cynthy's having surprised and frightened the real culprit. But Gerald had gone, and it might be long before the good news reached him.
"We will not go home, Cyril," said Mr. Morton, "until we have found your uncle. That is of the most importance now."
"If he has gone to the lumberers, as Pete said," remarked Cynthy, "I have an idea in which direction we must go to find him. If only the snow has ceased to-morrow I will guide you to the place. I should like nothing better," she added, as Mr. Morton demurred about giving her so much trouble. "They are used to my going away for a few days at once, at my home; I have relations scattered about the country, and they will conclude I am visiting them."
Then, as night was drawing in, the clever girl made up a good fire—fortunately there was a sufficiency of wood in the house—and arranged the rugs for Mr. Morton and Cyril to sleep on near the fire.
"I guess I'm going upstairs," she said, when this had been done, and she ran lightly up the ladder to the loft above before they could stop her.
"She'll be so cold up there, father!" exclaimed Cyril. "She'll freeze. There isn't a fireplace in the room, or anything but a poor bed on the floor."
"Run after her with this rug, Cyril," said Mr. Morton, choosing the largest skin-rug. "Tell her I won't have it and neither will you. We shall be miserable if she starves herself."