Trafford looked at the boy's eager, searching face for a second, then answered, "Yes, if you can be contented." This was hardly such an answer as Noll craved, yet it made his heart lighter. Perhaps it was only Uncle Richard's way, he thought, which made it seem as though he was not welcome. The old black housekeeper, he remembered, had warned him not to mind it. With this thought, his heart grew somewhat more cheerful, and he began to take a brighter view of things. He noted the tall cases of books and the open organ, and unconsciously these evidences of taste and refinement made the thought of dwelling in the stone house more acceptable. If Uncle Richard would only care for him, he thought, all the rest would not matter.
Trafford let go his hand, saying, "Go and get your supper, Noll; Hagar will show you. Then, if you like, you can come back."
The boy took two or three steps toward obeying, then, as if remembering some duty unperformed, turned and came back.
"I had forgotten the letter,—papa's letter,—Uncle Richard," he said, drawing the missive from his pocket. "Would you like it now?"
Trafford extended his hand without a word. Noll placed the precious letter therein, and walked away, looking back at the door to see that his uncle had broken the seal. Not till the boy's footsteps had died away did the uncle look upon the hurriedly-traced lines which the note contained. The letters were feebly made, hinting of the weakness of the hand which traced them. This was what he found:—
"My Dear Dick,—I write this to you from my dying-bed, not
knowing that it will ever reach you, or that you are even
upon the face of the earth. If ever you do return,—if
ever you receive this, be kind to my poor Noll for my sake.
Make him your own,—he'll love you,—and make him such a