Mrs. Richards’ face lighted instantly.
“From Uncle Jacob? That is good news. Has he returned?”
“Yes.”
“How is the dear old man, and when is he coming to make us a visit?” she asked, with animation.
“He is not at all well—has been having serious trouble with his head and eyes. He returned last fall, and since then has been visiting your brother in the West. Listen, and I will read you what he says:
“‘My Dear George:—You see by the heading of this that the wanderer has returned—yes, and returned to wander no more. I cannot write much, for I am not able to do so. I returned from abroad last fall, since when I have been with Henry, and now propose to go East and visit or make my future home with you, as you have so often pressed me to do. I know you will heartily sympathize with me when I tell you that the steamer on which I sailed was wrecked, and all I had was lost. I regret to come to you, as I shall, almost penniless, and in this broken state; but you have so often told me that there would always be “a warm corner in your home” for me, that I am going to take you at your word. I shall not wait for a reply to this, but follow almost immediately, for I know I shall meet with a hearty welcome.’”
Then followed a few affectionate sentences for each member of the family, but Mrs. Richards scarce heeded them.
“It can’t be possible that Uncle Jacob has lost all his property!” she cried, aghast. “Why, the last we heard he was worth a million!”
“I know; but in these days it does not take long to lose a million,” her husband replied, gravely, adding: “It is a misfortune, indeed, for the old man; but we will do the best we can for him, allowing him to feel it as little as possible. He will feel it, however, for he was, as I remember him, a very high-spirited, independent man.”
Mrs. Richards’ face was crimson from mingled emotions.