“Don’t worry about that, dear child,” said Mrs. Keith kindly; “we are not so very far from Philadelphia, and I think your uncles will let you come sometimes to see us.”
That comforted Ethel and she grew quite cheerful.
The Eldon brothers entered their office together the next morning and as usual found a pile of letters, brought by the early mail, awaiting them.
“Ah, where does this come from, I wonder!” remarked Mr. George, taking up one directed in a delicate female hand.
He broke the seal and glanced over the contents. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “a post-script signed by our little niece Ethel. The letter was written by her dictation, she says, because she cannot write very fast, and every word in it is true. Dear, dear, what a wretch is that Coote!” Then he read the missive aloud to his brother.
“The scoundrel! the unfeeling monster!” exclaimed Mr. Albert in hot indignation. “He shall not be allowed another opportunity to abuse those poor little ones. I’ll go for them at once and have them safe in my own house before night. I shall take them out of his clutches without a moment’s delay.” He drew out his watch as he spoke, and glancing at it, “There is barely more than time for me to catch the first train,” he said, “but I need no preparation.”
“Except some money, I presume,” said his brother, handing him a roll of bank-bills which he had just taken from the safe.
“Ah, yes! that is very essential!” he returned, pocketing them and taking up his hat. “Good-by; you may look for my return this afternoon with the four children.”
“Yes, I hope so,” said his brother, “and in the meantime I shall do what I can to prepare our wives to receive the poor little things and give them a kind and cordial welcome.”
Ethel and her little brother and sisters had just finished their dinner when the door bell rang and their Uncle Albert’s voice was heard in the hall asking for them.