“S’posin’,” he thought, “ther’ should be a letter at Sam Himes’ fur him now, f’om that Wetherbee feller? ’Twouldn’t no way do fur a boy ter git letters that his guardeen didn’t know nothin’ erbout, an’ ther’ ain’t no doubt thet, if Brandon got it, he wouldn’t show it ter me. I—I b’lieve I’ll drive ’round thet way an’ see.”
He touched up the mare again and, upon reaching the forks of the road, turned to the north once more and drove along the ridge until he reached a little gambrel roofed cottage on the westerly side of the highway.
This was the post office where Sam Himes held forth, and to which the lumbering old stage brought one mail each day.
Here he dismounted from the wagon again, and went into the house, being greeted at the door by the customary “Haow air ye?” of the postmaster.
“I was jes’ thinkin’ er sendin’ daown ter your haouse, Arad,” declared the postmaster, who was no respecter of persons, and called everybody by his first name, being familiar with them from the nature of his calling. “Here’s a letter fur yeou an’ one fur th’ boy—Don.”
He thrust two missives into the old man’s hand, and Arad stumbled out to his wagon again, his fingers shaking with excitement. Glancing at the two envelopes he recognized one at once, and clutched it avariciously. It was from a brokerage firm in New York, and contained his monthly dividend for certain investments which he had made.
The other letter, however, he did not look at until he had turned his horse about and started her jogging along toward home again. Then he drew forth the envelope and studied it carefully.
It was addressed in a big, scrawling hand to: “Master Brandon Tarr, Chopmist, Rhode Island,” yet, despite the plainness of the address, old Arad, after a hasty and half fearful glance around, broke the seal and drew forth the inclosed page.
He looked first at the signature, and finding it to be “Caleb Wetherbee,” he began to peruse the epistle, looking up from time to time to glance along the road, that nobody might catch him in the act of reading the letter intended only for his nephew’s eye.
Uncle Arad’s sight was not so keen for written words as it once had been, but he managed to stumble through the document, which read as follows: