When the door had closed behind the other, John’s gaze returned to the letter in his hand and his forehead became a maze of creases. Then he slowly slit the envelope and, drawing forth the single sheet it held, glanced perplexedly at the signature. He read it twice and his frown of perplexity gave place to an odd little smile that expressed wonderment, pleasure and something of dismay. Laying down the missive, he went to the pipe-tray, refilled his briar and lighted it, keeping the while an eye on the letter as though he feared it would whisk itself out of sight. Then he drew a chair to the light, settled himself comfortably and took up the letter again. But ere he began it he turned it over and looked once more at the signature as if in doubt as to the correctness of his previous interpretation of the small yet angular writing. But there was no mistake; the letters spelled “Margaret Ryerson” and nothing else. John emitted a sigh of relief and turned to the beginning. This is what he read:
“My Dear Mr. North:
“Your kind reply to Mr. Corliss, which he thoughtfully forwarded to us, is the only excuse I can offer for troubling you further with our difficulties, and I do hope you will not regret undertaking what I know must, with all your duties, be a great trouble to you. I am writing this in behalf of my mother, who is unable to attend to such things. And she asks me to try and tell you how deeply grateful she is for your kindness to Phillip. I fear, though, that I can’t do that in a letter. I can only beg you to believe that both my mother and myself feel that nothing we can say or do will requite you for your services to us. Phillip is very dear to us both, and it is such a great comfort to know that there is some one older and more experienced than he to whom he can appeal for advice and whom he may look upon as a friend. It has made us very happy down here at Elaine, you may be sure.
“But there is another matter in which I want to ask your help, and this part of my letter is on no one’s authority but my own, for I have thought best not to worry my mother with the affair. Phillip has just written us that he has lost some money at cards, not a great deal, but a considerable sum to us ‘poor Virginians.’ Perhaps Mr. Corliss wrote you that our circumstances are considerably altered since my father’s death? We really have very little money now, although when our property here is sold we shall not be poverty stricken. We thought it a pity to spoil Phillip’s enjoyment of his first year at college by acquainting him with the real state of affairs, and so he doesn’t know how hard it is for us to find the money for his expenses. And we had rather he didn’t know yet. And so if there is any way of keeping him from playing cards for money, won’t you please try it? It is not that we are very strict here about such things; only that Phillip, though he does not know it, cannot afford to use his money that way. I am sure that you will find some manner of keeping him from it without letting him know I have written to you. I fear he would not forgive me if he knew. We have no right to ask you to give your time to looking after Phillip, and you must think us very selfish and exacting. But do please believe that, at least, we are not ungrateful.
“Thanking you again on my mother’s behalf and on my own,
“Sincerely yours,
“Margaret Ryerson.”
When David came in a few minutes later he found John puffing hard at an empty pipe, his hands—one of them holding a letter—clasped behind his head and his countenance expressing great contentment.