“Again? We didn’t get any letter from you!”
“What! None? Then my long apology went astray. Too bad! But never mind now. I have better things to tell you, my boy. What do you think I came out here for?”
Whatever it was, his manner had an underlying nervousness. He looked to the right and left, toward the house and the street, especially the rear of the garden. A gate was cut in the tall fence. A horse whinnied outside of it.
“Have you any news for us? A telegram? You have heard from papa?—from Mr. Marcy?”
The lad had forgot vague perplexities and vague distrusts in hope.
“Yes, I have. Mr. Banger’s just told me your trouble. Your father and Mr. Marcy are all right, my boy. I’ve been sent to tell you so, and to take you straight to them. Hurrah!”
The little boy uttered a cry of joy.
“O, please do! And please tell me every thing, right away! What has been the trouble? We’ve been so dreadfully frightened. Philip will be back in a little while. I’m so glad I stayed!”
He sat down on one of the rustic benches in intense relief and excitement.