His grin was in a measure reassuring, but he had caught sight of the piece of paper in her hand, and eyed it steadily.
‘You know you played mother a trick a long time ago,’ Clem pursued, ‘when you went off an’ left that child on her ’ands.’
‘Hollo! What about that?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t be nothing but fair if someone was to go and play tricks with you—just to pay you off in a friendly sort o’ way—see?’
Mr. Snowdon still smiled, but dubiously.
‘Out with it!’ he muttered. ‘I’d have bet a trifle there was some game on. You’re welcome, old girl. Out with it!’
‘Did you know as I’d got a brother in ’Stralia—him as you used to know when you lived here before?’
‘You said you didn’t know where he was.’
‘No more we do—not just now. But he wrote mother a letter about this time last year, an’ there’s something in it as I’d like you to see. You’d better read for yourself.’
Her husband laid down his pipe on the mantel-piece and began to cast his eye over the letter, which was much defaced by frequent foldings, and in any case would have been difficult to decipher, so vilely was it scrawled. But Mr. Snowdon’s interest was strongly excited, and in a few moments he had made out the following communication: