“If you will stop runaway horses when your hands are full you must expect to lose things. This letter was picked up by Mrs Shield after that little adventure, and only came to light out of the lining of her bag last week. She remembered seeing it lying on the road, she says, and picking it up, along with Mary’s shawl and handkerchief, which had also fallen. But she was too flurried to think anything of it, and until it mysteriously turned up the other day she had forgotten its existence. So there’s a romantic story belonging to your letter.”
I could not be satisfied till the interesting document was produced and conned over. We laughed a good deal in the reading, over the reminiscences it brought up, and the change that had come over both our lives since then.
“Mrs Shield says Mary insisted it belonging to her, and that she had no right to send it to me,” said Jack, laughing. “What do you think of that?”
“It’s very kind of her,” said I, “to think anything about it. I say, Jack,” I added, blushing a little, “got that photo about you?”
Jack handed out his treasure, and we fell-to talking a good deal about the original of the picture, which interested me quite as much as it did Jack.
“Do you know, Fred,” said he, presently, “she doesn’t know anything about—about father? She believes she is an orphan, and that I am the only relation she has.”
“I’m sure,” said I, “it’s far better so.”
“Yes,” said Jack, sadly. “At present it is. But some day she ought to know.”
“Why?” said I.
“If he ever—but we’re not going to talk of that. What do you say to turning in? That’s half-past ten striking by the church.”