‘No more we do—not just now. But he wrote mother a letter about this time last year, an’ there’s something in it as I’d like you to see. You’d better read for yourself.’ Her husband laid down his pipe on the mantel-piece and began to cast his eye over the letter, which was much defaced by frequent foldings, and in any case would have been difficult to decipher, so vilely was it scrawled. But Mr. Snowdon’s interest was strongly excited, and in a few moments he had made out the following communication: ‘I don’t begin with no deering, because it’s a plaid out thing, and because I’m riting to too people at onse, both mother and Clem, and it’s so long since I’ve had a pen in my hand I’ve harf forgot how to use it. If you think I’m making my pile, you think rong, so you’ve got no need to ask me when I’m going to send money home, like you did in the last letter. I jest keep myself and that’s about all, because things ain’t what they used to be in this busted up country. And that reminds me what it was as I ment to tell you when I cold get a bit of time to rite. Not so long ago, I met a chap as used to work for somebody called Snowdon, and from what I can make out it was Snowdon’s brother at home, him as we use to ere so much about. He’d made his pile, this Snowdon, you bet, and Ned Williams says he died worth no end of thousands. Not so long before he died, his old farther from England came out to live with him; then Snowdon and a son as he had both got drownded going over a river at night. And Ned says as all the money went to the old bloak and to a brother in England, and that’s what he herd when he was paid off. The old farther made traks very soon, and they sed he’d gone back to England. So it seams to me as you ouht to find Snowdon and make him pay up what he ose you. And I don’t know as I’ve anything more to tell you both, ecsep I’m working at a place as I don’t know how to spell, and it woldn’t be no good if I did, because there’s no saying were I shall be before you could rite back. So good luck to you both, from yours truly, W. P.’ In reading, Joseph James scratched his bald head thoughtfully. Before he had reached the end there were signs of emotion in his projecting lower lip. At length he regarded Clem, no longer smiling, but without any of the wrath she had anticipated. ‘Ha, ha! This was your game, was it? Well, I don’t object, old girl—so long as you tell me a bit more about it. Now there’s no need for any more lies, perhaps you’ll mention where the old fellow is.’ ‘He’s livin’ not so far away, an’ Jane with him.’