‘I have had a graft, my dear, a tele-graft—in one of them nasty-lookin’ yeller wrappers as al’ays seems to bring bad news.’ ‘I hope it has n’t brought bad news this time,’ said she tremulously, as they went into the house together. ‘Nay, I hope not,’ said the farmer doubtfully. ‘It does n’t say much, d’ ye see—not much one way or t’ other.’ Smoothing out the paper, he handed it to her upside down. Rosalie reversed it, and read the brief message: ‘Send luggage as soon as possible Lime Street Station, Liverpool, to be called for.—Richard.’ ‘Liverpool! Then he must intend to go to America again!’ Isaac flushed, and his jaw dropped. ‘Now, Mrs. F., I do call that a-jumpin’ to conclusions,’ he said presently, quite testily for him. ‘You have n’t no earthly reason for sayin’ sich a thing. Is it likely my nevvy ’ud go off to ’Merica again when he’s only just a-comed back? Did n’t he say he was a-longin’ and a-longin’ to be back to the old country—’ ‘I know,’ interrupted Rosalie quickly; ‘but for all that I’m sure he means to return to America now. He told me he landed at Liverpool, and, depend upon it, he intends to start from there again. Yes, yes, I’m quite sure of it. He did not rest, you see, until he had put the length of the country between us, and now he means to go further still—perhaps when he is at the other side of the world he will be contented.’ She spoke with irrepressible bitterness, but Isaac did not notice it. ‘If that’s your opinion, Mrs. F.,’ he said, ‘we ’d best lose no time in carryin’ out my little plan. I ’ve got a plan, d’ ye see,’ he added, with modest triumph. ‘Ah, it comed to me all of a sudden. We’ll write to him, Mrs. F.’ ‘But what would be the use of writing?’ said Rosalie. ‘We cannot force him to come back against his will.’ ‘Nay, we can’t force him, but I think ’t is only some notion the chap’s got in his head. He seemed quite settled till last week, and maybe the rovin’ fit will ha’ wore off a bit by now. He’s gone all the way to Liverpool, d’ ye see—that ought to ha’ let off a bit o’ steam. Maybe, if we wrote him a letter and just axed him straight out, he might change his mind. We can send a letter with his luggage—’t won’t be too late so long as he has n’t left the country; and he can’t leave the country wi’out his luggage, d’ ye see? We can but try.’ ‘Of course—you can try,’ said Rosalie, pressing her hand to her head with a bewildered air. ‘So, I were thinkin’, Mrs. F., if ye ’d jist set down and drop a line to ’en for me—that’s to say, if your head bain’t a-troublin’ you too much—’ He was looking at her pleadingly, misunderstanding the expression of her face. ‘Oh, never mind about my head. I’m only wondering—I’m only thinking. Must the letter go to-day?’ ‘Well ye see, Richard did ax most perticlar for his traps to be sent off at once,’ replied the farmer, his eyes round with anxiety; ‘and if we don’t send the letter at the same time we mid miss him.’