The communication was not sealed very well, and by breathing repeatedly upon the flap James Talbot soon had the envelope open. Then he drew out the letter and read it. He was chagrined to learn that his step-son was doing so nicely and needed no assistance. "He seems to have fallen upon his feet," he murmured. "Well, I'll wager it won't last. Sooner or later he'll be back home and wanting me and his mother to take care of him. When that time comes, I'll dictate pretty stiff terms to him, or my name isn't James Talbot." One passage in the letter positively angered him. "I trust Mr. Talbot treats you as you should be treated," wrote Robert. "If he does not, let me know, and I will compel him to do what is right. He must remember that the house and everything else belongs to you so long as you live." "Belongs to you so long as you live," mused James Talbot. "Can it be possible that the estate goes to Robert after his mother's death? I must look into this." At first he was of a mind to destroy the letter, but thought better of it and placed it again in the envelope. When he reached the house he found his wife in the garden, sitting under a grape arbor. Mrs. Talbot's face showed that she had been weeping. "Why, my love, what is the matter?" he asked softly. Of late he had been treating her well, having what is popularly called "an ax to grind." "Nothing is the matter, James." "But your face shows that you have been crying." "It is nothing." "Have you had any trouble with Jane?" "No." "Then what is it?" "I was thinking of Robert. Isn't it terrible that I get no word from him?" Mr. Talbot started, and his hand went into the pocket where the letter rested. Then he recovered and shrugged his shoulders. "I have already told you what I think of the boy," he said. "My love, he is unworthy of your tears." "Oh, James!" "It is true. He has gone out into the world and has forgotten you." "No, no! Robert would never be so heartless." "I think I know him better than do you. You are blind to the truth because you are his mother." "He may be penniless, or sick, so that he cannot write." "Perhaps he is out on the ocean, or on the Great Lakes," said Mr. Talbot. "Even so, I am sure he would have written before going." "You must not think so much of him, my love. You are altogether too melancholy. I have just learned that we are to have a first-class theatrical company in Granville next week. I will get good seats and take you there." "I do not care to go to any play. Life is too real to me for that." "You are blue, Sarah. Forget the boy and you will feel better," said James Talbot, and receiving no answer to this, he walked away. "Forget Robert! forget my only child!" thought Mrs. Talbot. "Never! Oh, if I only knew where I could write to him!" On the day following Mrs. Talbot had occasion to call at Joel Blarcomb's store to order a number of groceries for the house.