A letter,' he said, 'from your mother.'
Dick was surprised; as he took the note Jacker discovered an accusation in his eye.
'The oath don't say nothin' agin' letters,' said McKnight sullenly.
'No,' answered his mate, 'but really miners ain't supposed to have mothers runnin' after 'em, like if they were kids.'
'Well,' said the other, on the defensive, 'your mother comes to me at dinner time, an' she says: 'I s'pose 'taint likely you'll see my Dick, Jacker.' I said,' No, Missus Haddon, 'taint, s'elp me.' Then she says, 'Well, if he should come to see you, will you give him this?' So I took it, an' there you are.'
Dick read the letter slowly; it was a very artful letter, most pathetic, and sprinkled with drops which might have been tears. The writer spoke despondingly of her loneliness and her desolation, and the fears she endured when by herself in the house at night, knowing there was a camp of blacks in the corner paddock, and so many rough cattlemen about. She was entirely helpless since her only protector had deserted her, and she supposed that it only remained for her to be resigned to her fate. She signed her self, 'Your forsaken and sorrow-stricken mother.'
When Dick had finished reading he started to put on his clothes.
'What's up, Morgan?' asked Phil.
'Knock off!' was the brief reply.
'But what yer goin' to do?'