“Ah, you are very hopeful, Vieve,” her mother sighed. “I only wish I felt as sure of it as you do.”
It was only two or three mornings after the receipt of the consul’s letter that Vieve once more waved an envelope as she hurried down the post-office hill.
“It’s another from Kit, mother,” she cried, as she burst into the room; “and it was registered and I had to sign a receipt for it, so there must be something important in it.”
There was no hesitation ever about opening Kit’s letters; they were always so hopeful and cheery.
“We are going to get our cargo in a little sooner than we expected,” he wrote, “and in about two weeks or two and a half after you receive this you may hear of our arrival in New York.
“I intended to send you the cardinal’s letter last time I wrote, but I was interrupted and had to mail it in a hurry, so I waited to send it in this. And I will register this letter to guard against it’s being lost in the mails, as a note from so powerful a person might be of great use to us in New Zealand, and I must not lose it. It is written in Latin, as you will see; and I am sorry to say that not one of us on the ship knows enough about Latin to read it. But maybe you can get our minister in Huntington or Vieve’s teacher to translate it for you. I should like to know myself what is in it. I shall not be very long, I tell you, about learning some languages besides English. I did not know how much use they could be to a man till I came to travel. I am picking up a little French in dealing with these French people, but have not had much time for it—for you must not think I have had nothing to do in Marseilles but look at the sights. I heard a funny little story the other day about an Englishman who was learning French. You know the ‘sea’ in French is mer, pronounced mare, and ‘horse’ is cheval. ‘Well,’ said he, after taking a few lessons, I never can learn such a foolish language as this, where the sea is a mare and a horse is a shovel.’”
“Did you ever see such a boy!” Mrs. Silburn exclaimed, handling Kit’s letter as if it were more precious than gold. “He always finds something funny wherever he goes.”
But Vieve was very much interested in the cardinal’s note, and the little scarlet emblem in the corner.
“I might take it to school and ask the teacher to translate it,” she said; “but I think Mr. Wright would be more interested in it. He always takes such an interest in Kit; and then although he is a minister, maybe he has never seen a letter from a cardinal.”
That same afternoon she took the letter to Mr. Wright, the clergyman who preached in the church across the road, and he readily consented to translate it.