“And now for sister Madaleine’s letter,” cried Eric, when he had kissed the signature to that of his mother’s which Fritz handed over to him as soon as he had done reading it aloud. “It seems almost as big a one as mutterchen’s and I dare say there’ll be lots more news in it!”
“Ah, I think I’ll read this first to myself,” said Fritz dryly; adding a moment after when he noticed Eric’s look of intense disgust: “you see, she only writes to me, you know.”
“Oh yes, that’s very fine!” exclaimed the other, in a highly aggrieved tone. “Never mind, though, I can pay you out sooner than you think, Master Fritz! See this little note here!”
“No—yes—what is it?” said Fritz, looking up in an absent way from the second of the home letters, which now lay open on his knee.
“Ah, wouldn’t you like to know, Mr Selfish-keep-his-letters-to-himself sort of a brother, eh? Well, then, this note here contains some of the dearest words you ever saw penned! It was enclosed by Miss Celia Brown in a letter of her father’s to you—which you’ve taken such little account of that you chucked it down on the floor in your ridiculous hurry to read that letter which you won’t tell me about. Now, I did intend, Master Fritz, to give you this delightful little note, which I would not part with for the world, for you to read it your own self; but, now, I shan’t let you once cast your eyes over it, there! It is only a little tiny note; still, I think much more of it than all your big letters from that Madaleine Vogelstein, who I don’t believe is half as handsome as Celia!”
“All right then, we’re both satisfied if such is the case,” rejoined Fritz, in no way put out by this outburst, or alarmed at the terrible reprisals threatened by Eric, and then, the elder brother bowed his head again over the unfolded sheets of scented paper lying on his knee that came from his sweetheart across the sea.
The letter was all that the fondest lover could wish; and, with the omission of a few endearing terms, Fritz subsequently read it to Eric, who thereupon relented from his previous resolution and showed him Miss Celia Brown’s note. This, however, contained nothing very remarkable, after all; unless a postscript, saying that the writer “expected to have a good time” when the sailor lad returned to Providence, deserves to be described in Eric’s extravagant language.
The schooner’s visit having settled their minds, so to speak, the brother crusoes were able after her departure to devote themselves anew, with all the greater zest, to what they now considered their regular work.
As in the previous year, before adventuring beyond their own special domain, the garden was dug up and replanted; the labour this time, of course, being far less than on the first occasion, for they had no longer virgin soil to tackle with as then.
A much larger lot of potatoes were put into the ground, the brothers having learnt by experience that, after once planting, these useful “apples of the earth” necessitated little further trouble, one good hoeing up when the sprouts had appeared above the surface and an occasional rake over to keep down the weeds being quite sufficient to make the plot look neat; while, should they have more than they required for themselves when harvest time came, they could easily store them up for the use of the Pilot’s Bride crew, as a slight return for all Captain Brown’s kindness.