“‘Oh! that will be joyful!
Joyful! Joyful! Joyful!
Oh! that will be joyful,
To meet and part no more!’
“It will be like heaven, sir! like heaven! to have my boy with me all the rest of my life! But do go on, sir! Forgive a poor mother’s impatience, and read me what else he says!” she cried, ready to turn from rapture to tears.
“There is not much more,” said Mr. Campbell. “Only this:
“‘Please, dearest mother, if you can pardon me, let me know when I can come to see you. And believe me your sincerely penitent and evermore loving and dutiful son,
“‘Sam.’”
“Oh! the darling of darlings! the angel of angels! Oh, please, dear minister, write for me directly, for I never can hold a pen in the hand that is trembling for joy and blessedness and gratitude, and tell him to come immediately. But, no! I will go to him! Where is he? I’ll get the Red Fox carryall and start for the station immediately. Truly, where shall I go? Tell me, minister, dear! Look at the letter! Where is it dated from?” she eagerly demanded.
“You will not have far to go. He is in this village,” said Mr. Campbell, smiling.