“Not sleeping to-night, no? Have to get back to Douglas? Then maybe you'll write me a letter first?”
Philip nodded his head and returned, his mouth tightly closed, sat down at the table, and took up the pen.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Am I to give you the words, Phil? Yes? Well, if you won't be thinking mane——”
Pete charged His pipe out of his waistcoat pocket, and began to dictate:
“Dear wife.'”
At that Philip gave an involuntary cry.
“Aw, best to begin proper, you know. 'Dear wife,'” said Pete again.
Philip made a call on his resolution, and put the words down. His hand felt cold; his heart felt frozen to the core. Pete lit up, and walked to and fro as he dictated his letter. Nancy sat knitting by the cradle, with one foot on the rocker.
“'Glad to get your welcome letter, darling, and the bonnet
for the baby'——-”