But at last there came a letter to Master which made him look grave and troubled. Often I saw him reading it, or perhaps he got others, but anyway pondering over a closely written page with a white, anxious face.
Dr. Fred, coming quietly into the barn one morning, caught him.
"What's up?"
A moment Master hesitated, then made answer:
"A letter from Bobby."
Fred paled and staggered a step.
"From Bobby!" he echoed, then paused.
"Yes, I have wondered whether any good could come of telling you; but now that it has come about, I will. I have been sending her money for three months past. Garret misuses her, I think, but she never says so; only 'I am heartsick and homesick, uncle, besides being laid up with neuralgia. Paul is not doing well just now, and Freddie (named Frederick Richard for you and dear papa).'"
Master had read these last lines from the letter, but here Dr. Fred burst out: "Where is my baby; my sweet Bobby? So she says 'dear papa,' and calls the boy Fred! Bring her home to my lonely heart and empty arms, Dick, and I'll bless you forever."
Of course, I don't know how it all came about, but one morning, some weeks after, Master led me out and set a tiny boy on my back. The little fellow laughed and prattled in an almost unknown tongue. When I got a look at him I saw that he was the picture of Bobby when she was of his age.