"But Leonard is, and he will read it to you."
When Leonard returned home that evening, Mrs. Fairfield showed him the letter. It ran thus:
"Dear Jane,—Mr. Dale will tell you that we wish Leonard to come to us. We are glad to hear you are well. We forward, by Mr. Dale, a bank-note for £50, which comes from Richard, your brother. So no more at present from your affectionate parents,
"John and Margaret Avenel."
The letter was in a stiff female scrawl, and Leonard observed that two or three mistakes in spelling had been corrected, either in another pen or in a different hand.
"Dear brother Dick, how good in him!" cried the widow. "When I saw there was money, I thought it must be him. How I should like to see Dick again. But I s'pose he's still in Amerikay. Well, well, this will buy clothes for you."
"No; you must keep it all, mother, and put it in the Savings' Bank."
"I'm not quite so silly as that," cried Mrs. Fairfield, with contempt; and she put the fifty pounds into a cracked teapot.
"It must not stay there when I'm gone. You may be robbed, mother."
"Dear me, dear me, that's true. What shall I do with it?—what do I want with it, too! Dear me! I wish they hadn't sent it. I shan't sleep in peace. You must e'en put it in your own pouch, and button it up tight, boy."