When the door had closed behind the other, John’s gaze returned to the letter in his hand and his forehead became a maze of creases. Then he slowly slit the envelope and, drawing forth the single sheet it held, glanced perplexedly at the signature. He read it twice and his frown of perplexity gave place to an odd little smile that expressed wonderment, pleasure and something of dismay. Laying down the missive, he went to the pipe-tray, refilled his briar and lighted it, keeping the while an eye on the letter as though he feared it would whisk itself out of sight. Then he drew a chair to the light, settled himself comfortably and took up the letter again. But ere he began it he turned it over and looked once more at the signature as if in doubt as to the correctness of his previous interpretation of the small yet angular writing. But there was no mistake; the letters spelled “Margaret Ryerson” and nothing else. John emitted a sigh of relief and turned to the beginning. This is what he read: “MY DEAR MR. NORTH: “Your kind reply to Mr. Corliss, which he thoughtfully forwarded to us, is the only excuse I can offer for troubling you further with our difficulties, and I do hope you will not regret undertaking what I know must, with all your duties, be a great trouble to you. I am writing this in behalf of my mother, who is unable to attend to such things. And she asks me to try and tell you how deeply grateful she is for your kindness to Phillip. I fear, though, that I can’t do that in a letter. I can only beg you to believe that both my mother and myself feel that nothing we can say or do will requite you for your services to us. Phillip is very dear to us both, and it is such a great comfort to know that there is some one older and more experienced than he to whom he can appeal for advice and whom he may look upon as a friend. It has made us very happy down here at Elaine, you may be sure.