Fred received the letter from the pastor of the settlement shortly after landing, while his father and the captain were on board the English brig making arrangements for their passage home. He could scarcely believe his eyes when he beheld the well-known hand; but having at last come to realize the fact that he actually held a real letter in his hand, he darted behind one of the curious, primitive cottages to read it. Here he was met by a squad of inquisitive natives, so with a gesture of impatience he rushed to another spot; but he was observed and followed by half-a-dozen Esquimau boys, and in despair he sought refuge in the small church near which he chanced to be. He had not been there a second, however, when two old women came in, and, approaching him, began to scan him with critical eyes. This was too much, so Fred thrust the letter into his bosom, darted out, and was instantly surrounded by a band of natives, who began to question him in an unknown tongue. Seeing that there was no other resource, Fred turned round and fled towards the mountains at a pace that defied pursuit, and, coming to a halt in the midst of a rocky gorge that might have served as an illustration of what chaos was, he sat down behind a big rock to peruse Isobel's letter. Having read it, he re-read it; having re-read it, he read it over again. Having read it over again, he meditated a little, exclaiming several times emphatically, "My _darling_ Isobel," and then he read bits of it here and there; having done which, he read the _other_ bits, and so got through it again. As the letter was a pretty long one, it took him a considerable time to do all this. Then it suddenly occurred to him that he had been thus selfishly keeping it all to himself instead of sharing it with his father; so he started up and hastened back to the village, where he found Captain Ellice in earnest confabulation with the pastor of the place. Seizing his parent by the arm, Fred led him into a room in the pastor's house, and, looking round to make sure that it was empty, he sought to bolt the door. But the door was a primitive one and had no bolt, so Fred placed a huge old-fashioned chair against it, and sitting down therein, while his father took a seat opposite, he unfolded the letter, and yet once again read it through. The letter was about twelve months old, and ran thus:-- GRAYTON, _25th July._