Letters from home are always welcome, and doubly so when one has been out of reach of the mail for a long time. As Professor Strong held up nearly a dozen written communications, the lads fairly pounced upon them, and for the time being the newspapers were forgotten.
“Here’s one for Mark and two for Frank,” cried Darry. “Where is mine?”
“Here you are,” said Frank, holding out three. “And here is one for you, Jake.”
“And here’s another for Jake,” added Sam. “And two for myself.”
“No, boys, these two are my own!” laughed Professor Strong, holding them back. “You mustn’t expect all the good things, you know.”
“Only one for me!” murmured Mark. “And Darry has three. That’s hardly fair.”
“You want to send your folks a bottle of ink and some pens,” replied Darry. “Never mind; I’ll tell you what’s in mine, after I read ’em.”
“Don’t say a word,” burst out Frank. “Look at that letter, twelve or fifteen pages, and this one of mine has only four pages. Mark needn’t complain.”
“Here’s a photograph,” came slowly from Sam. “My mother! It was nice of her to send that.” And he gazed at the picture affectionately.
Soon all were sitting in the hammocks and easy chairs at hand reading the letters received. There was all sorts of news from home, of more or less interest. Mark’s father was just home from a trip to England and Scotland, and he and Mr. Newton were contemplating a trip together, for business as well as pleasure. Sam’s mother had left Boston to visit relatives up in Maine, and hoped her only son would do his best to keep out of peril and mischief. Darry’s letters told how his father had gone to Colorado to look up a big cattle deal, and there was also a letter from a sister who was just leaving home to go to boarding school. Hockley had word that his father had lost one saw mill by fire but had bought two mills to take its place, and that the elder Hockley was now president of a new Consolidated Lumber Company.