At last there came a letter, and, when Uncle Zacheus read it, he wished it had never come. A portion of it was as follows:
“I was sorry to take French leave, as I did, but there was no alternative. Mrs. Tracy would never have given her consent, and we had to marry without it. Nor have we repented yet, and are as happy as two young people madly in love can be. I have some things in my room which I’d like you to send to the Sherman House, Chicago, where we are boarding at present, but we expect soon to go to housekeeping on Michigan Avenue.
“And now I come to the real object of my letter. I want Jeff. I suppose I can claim him lawfully, but I’ll leave the decision to the boy himself. If you wish to keep him let him take his choice between you and me,—Ridgefield and Chicago. If he decides for me, send him on and pay the expense out of what you owe me. The rest you are to keep. I have no use for it.
“With kindest regards to yourself and Mrs. Taylor, in which my wife joins,
“Yours most sincerely,
“Mark Hilton.”
“Dot,” Uncle Zach called in a shaky voice, when he finished reading the letter; “Mark wants Jeff; read what he says.”
She read it twice, and then sat very still, with her hands clasped hard on the arms of her chair. With all his faults she liked the boy, who of late had seemed so much improved and been so useful to them. Her liking was slight compared to that of her husband, whose face looked pinched and grey as they discussed the matter.
“I s’pose we must let him choose,” Uncle Zach said, at last, and, calling Jeff to him, he told him what Mark had written.
Jeff’s eyes were like saucers as he listened. He was greatly attached to Mark, and any dislike he had for Helen for the trick she had served Craig was overbalanced by Chicago. To live in a big city would be delightful.