I went to the post-office where my two letters had been addressed, the one I wrote a year ago, just after Jack’s expulsion, and the other written last week from Brownstroke.
“Have you any letters addressed to ‘J’?” I asked.
The clerk fumbled over the contents of a pigeon-hole, from which he presently drew out my last letter and gave it to me.
“Wait a bit,” said he, as I was taking it up, and turning to leave the office. “Wait a bit.”
He went back to the pigeon-hole, and after another sorting produced, very dusty and dirty, my first letter. “That’s for ‘J’ too,” said he.
Then Jack had never been to Packworth, or got my letter, posted at such risk. He must have given me a false address. Surely, if he lived here, he would have called for the letter. Why did he tell me to write to Post-Office, Packworth, if he never meant to call for my letters?
A feeling of vexation crossed my mind, and mingled with the disappointment I felt at now being sure my journey here was a hopeless one.
I wandered about the town a bit, in the vague hope of something turning up. But nothing did. Nothing ever does when a fellow wants it. So I turned tail, and faced the prospect of a solitary ten-mile walk back to Brownstroke.
I felt decidedly down. This expedition to Packworth had been a favourite dream of mine for many months past, and somehow I had never anticipated there would be much difficulty, could I once get there, in discovering my friend Smith. But now he seemed more out of reach than ever. There were my two neglected letters, never called for, and not a word from him since the day I left Stonebridge House. I might as well give up the idea of ever seeing him again, and certainly spare myself the trouble of further search after him.
I was walking on, letters in hand, engaged in this sombre train of thought, when suddenly, on the road before me, I heard a clatter of hoofs accompanied by a child’s shriek. At the same moment round a corner appeared a small pony galloping straight towards where I was, with a little girl clinging wildly round its neck, and uttering the cries I had heard.