‘You have had what?’ inquired Rosalie.
‘I have had a graft, my dear, a tele-graft—in one of them nasty-lookin’ yeller wrappers as al’ays seems to bring bad news.’
‘I hope it has n’t brought bad news this time,’ said she tremulously, as they went into the house together.
‘Nay, I hope not,’ said the farmer doubtfully. ‘It does n’t say much, d’ ye see—not much one way or t’ other.’
Smoothing out the paper, he handed it to her upside down.
Rosalie reversed it, and read the brief message:
‘Send luggage as soon as possible Lime Street Station, Liverpool, to be called for.—Richard.’
‘Liverpool! Then he must intend to go to America again!’
Isaac flushed, and his jaw dropped.
‘Now, Mrs. F., I do call that a-jumpin’ to conclusions,’ he said presently, quite testily for him. ‘You have n’t no earthly reason for sayin’ sich a thing. Is it likely my nevvy ’ud go off to ’Merica again when he’s only just a-comed back? Did n’t he say he was a-longin’ and a-longin’ to be back to the old country—’