"Poor little girl, I have neglected you."
"Elizabeth can scarcely be said to have been neglected," put in Miss Herrick, somewhat stiffly.
"Oh no, Aunt Caroline, you have been very good to take care of me so long, and I have given you so much trouble; but you are not my father, and I have wanted him so much."
"And what do you think was the means of bringing me home at last, Elizabeth?"
"I don't know, father."
Mr. Herrick released her hand for a moment, and took from his pocket a leather case. Carefully put away in the innermost compartment was a letter. The envelope was covered with postmarks, and it had the appearance of having journeyed to many places.
"Do you remember this letter that you wrote me more than a year ago?" he asked. "It reached me only the day before I sailed, and until it came, Elizabeth, I had no intention of sailing for many years to come. It has followed me about from place to place, and has been mislaid and sent astray, until at last it found me. When I read it, Elizabeth, I believe I realized for the first time that I had a daughter, and that I ought to come home to her."
"Oh, father! did that letter really bring you at last? I knew it would, for it is what I have prayed for every night and morning ever since I wrote it; but you were so long in coming that I had almost begun to give up hoping."
"May I see the letter?" asked Miss Herrick.
"No," said her brother. "I don't think any one shall ever read this letter but my daughter and myself." Which made Elizabeth sigh with satisfaction.