“I’ve a letter for you, Neal,” added the host presently in a lighter tone. “It was directed to my care. It is from Philadelphia, from Royal Sinclair, I think.”
Neal slit the envelope which was handed to him, and read the few lines it contained aloud, with a longing burst of laughter.
Royal was as short with his pen as he was dash-away with his tongue. The letter was a brief but pressing invitation to Cyrus and the Farrars to visit their camping acquaintances of the Maine wilds at the Sinclairs’ home in Philadelphia before the English boys recrossed the Atlantic.
“Come you must!” wrote Roy. “We’ve promised to give a big spread, and invite all the crowd we train with to meet you. We’ll have a great old time, and bring out our best yarns. Don’t let me catch you refusing!”
Greenville,—“Farewell To The Woods.”
“We won’t if we can help it,” commented Neal; “if only we can coax the Pater to give us another week in jolly America.”
The campers slept upon mattresses that night for the first time in many weeks.
The following morning saw them grouped in the main street of Greenville, with Doc and Herb on hand for a final farewell, waiting for the departure of the coach which was to bear them a little part of the way towards Boston civilization.