The next morning Lib awoke very early, and, procuring a paper and pencil from her geography, which she had placed under her bed the night before, she wrote in crooked little handwriting:
“Dere Unkle Darcie:
“Ther is a bad man cums hear to find out whar yo ar. He tuk me a rid on a motrsikle. I didunt lik it but I didunt let hym no. He thretend to kyl me if I didunt give hym yor adres, so I maid upp one and he brot me hom. I wisht that yoo wud cum home so I cud tak ker of yoo. It is offul hard takan ker when I dont no wher yoo ar.
“I wisht yoo wer hear. It is lonesum. From Lib. P.S. I was skard, but he didunt no it.”
Lib had found an envelope in the table downstairs, and she sealed her letter and took it to her father to address, but her father shook his head.
“I don’t know, Lib. Uncle Darcy didn’t leave his address. He’s travelling, I reckon. But we’ll send it where he goes sometimes.”
And so the letter started on its warning way to Darcy.
CHAPTER XXV
The winter had come on, introduced by a long and brilliant autumn, and Joyce was so engrossed in her work that she scarcely realized how long it was since she had left Meadow Brook.
In addition to her work she had become deeply engrossed in Bible study.