"Oh, what shall we do, Benjamin?" said the widow.
"First, we must search for that letter of Uncle Matthew's."
"I know I'm to blame, Benjamin. I have brought ruin upon you and my poor, innocent Tony."
"You haven't ruined me, so you need not trouble yourself about that. Even if the letter cannot be found, I guess we shall live through it."
They hunted high and low; but the letter was not to be found. Ben was a good deal disappointed, but did not venture to say so, not wishing to increase his aunt's despondency. On Monday morning he went back to Boston, and told the bookkeeper.
"It seems quite desirable that you should go to Montreal, Ben," said young Porter.
"Of course that is out of the question, Mr. Porter."
"No; I think it can be managed."
Ben looked, as he felt, not a little surprised.
"It is some time," explained the bookkeeper, "since we sent an agent to Montreal. We have been thinking of sending some one up there, stopping at the principal towns on the way. You are rather young, but if I recommend you I presume my uncle will let you go."