“Friend David:
It may surprise you to know that father has just turned over to me the hundred dollars you paid him for that colt, and that I hold it subject to your order. Father intended to return it to you all the time, and to make you a present of the horse; but he didn’t let anybody know it, for he wanted you to believe that you had got to work for your nag before you could own him. He doesn’t want you to get into the way of leaning upon any one, or of thinking that you will always have a friend to lend you a hand when you get into a tight place. You have shown him that you are able and willing to take care of yourself, and so he wants to help you.
Yours,
Don Gordon.”
It was, indeed, a surprise to David. He was just a hundred dollars richer than he thought he was. During his ride he could think of nothing but the general’s kindness, and he made the mental resolution that he would prove himself worthy of it. When he returned to the landing that afternoon, he waited until Silas had distributed the mail, in order to purchase some groceries for his mother, and found that there was another surprise in store for him. When the postmaster gave him the general’s mail, which David always carried home now, he gave him also a letter addressed to himself. He did not recognise the handwriting, so he did as a good many people do when they receive letters from an unknown source: he looked at the envelope, and tried to guess whom it was from. Then he put the general’s mail into his pocket, took his purchases under his arm, mounted his horse, and having started him toward home pulled out the letter again and tore off the envelope. The first thing that caught his eye was a check for fifty dollars.
“There!” exclaimed the young mail carrier, “I’ve opened a letter intended for somebody else; but if there’s another Dave Evans about here, I don’t know him.”
David looked at the check again, then at the signature at the bottom of the letter. It was from Bob Owens, and read as follows:
“No doubt you will be surprised when you receive this, for I don’t suppose that you or anybody else in Rochdale ever expected to hear from me again. I owe you a hundred and sixty dollars and fifty cents, and hand you herewith a check for fifty of it. It is the first money I ever earned in my life. I should have been glad to send it before, but this is the first I have received. I am a private soldier in the regular army. My pay is small, and out of it I have to buy everything I wear, so my savings do not amount to any great sum. You probably know by this time how I came into possession of the money. I followed Dan to his camp, saw him hide the box under a log, and go out to shoot a squirrel for his breakfast. When he was out of sight I slipped up and took the box, and ran away from home to spend the money. I have never regretted the act but once, and that has been every moment I have lived since I left Mississippi. I hope you have not suffered for want of the money. Have all the patience with me you can, and I will send you the rest just as soon as I can earn it.”
Then followed a postscript requesting David to acknowledge the receipt of the money, and telling him where to send his letter. It also contained the information that Bob had just written a letter to his father (he said he knew he did wrong in keeping him in suspense so long, but he could not find it in his heart to write to him until he could tell him that he had taken the first step toward making amends for some of his misdeeds), and, for fear that the letter might miscarry, he (Bob) would be glad if David would see Mr. Owens, and give him his son’s address.
“That clears Dan, and father, too,” said David, as soon as he had found his tongue. “I didn’t want to think hard of them while they are trying their best to do what is right, but somehow I couldn’t help feeling that that money was hidden in the woods, and that it would some day be brought out for the benefit of somebody besides mother and myself. Am I not the luckiest fellow in the world? Whatever else Bob Owens may be now, he is an honest boy.”