But Kate did not finish; she was ready to cry. Harry, foreseeing what would happen, took a letter from his pocket and held it up before her face, saying:
“Just see! What news!—from Michigan, too—from one of the Huxtables!”
And Harry opened it and began to read, but the heart of the letter he kept to himself, not feeling able to have anyone bear it with him.
On the night when Frank was out in the fog, Harry, waiting in his room for the approach of low tide, wrote the first letter he had sent back to his old home since he had found a new one, and this was the response, and this was the portion of the letter he had kept to himself: “Last summer there was a real nice man—ever so rich, folks say, whose name was Mr. Ludlow, from Maine, out here looking for you. He went everywhere, where anybody about here told him you might have gone; and then when he couldn’t find you anywhere, he put it in the papers, asking where you were. We kept one awhile, but I can’t find it now; but he told me he was your Uncle Horace; and you must find him out, mother says, right off; and there’s some land out here that belongs to you, that Mr. Ludlow found out about, and he’s taking care of it till you’re found.”
Now Harry had had a whole mile of a walk in which to sober down, after hearing this great, good news for himself; and he very quickly foresaw what might come of it, not only to himself, but to his best friends, and he resolved to keep it all to himself until he could find out the best thing to do; and it was the effect of this letter that Kate Hallock felt, although she knew not of it.
“I’m ever so glad you’ve heard from your friends, Harry,” said Kate, preparing to go home; “and, for my part, I don’t see why that queer uncle of yours up or down in Maine isn’t looking you up.”
Harry’s face grew very red—and Harry wasn’t given to blushing. Had he stood where Kate’s quick eyes had read more of the letter than he did? But no; he had stood with the last of the sunlight coming through the window on his letter and Kate was where it was impossible to overlook it. Surely Kate had a very curious manner of feeling things that she could not see. He opened the door for her departure, and, closing it after himself, he said:
“Let me go across with you, Kittie. When the snow and ice come, we can’t slip over the near way any more.”
Over the stone wall they went, down the slope and through the meadow, and they had even emerged from the bit of woods before Harry found courage to ask:
“When you know of anybody who wants to buy Neptune, Kittie, will you come right away and tell me, because I know of a person who would like to own him?”