ny knowledge he had not happened to acquire could only be
meretricious and useless.

He led a nightmare sort of existence for some days, until something
happened which roused him from his state of passive misery into one more
attempt at protest.

It was Saturday morning, and he had come down to breakfast, after being
knocked about as usual in the dormitory over night, with a dull wonder
how long this horrible state of things could possibly be going to last,
when he saw on his plate a letter with the Paddington post-mark,
addressed in a familiar hand--his daughter Barbara's.

For an instant his hopes rose high. Surely the impostor had been found
out at last, and the envelope would contain an urgent invitation to him
to come back and resume his rights--an invitation which he might show to
the Doctor as his best apology.

But when he looked at the address, which was "Master Richard Bultitude,"
he felt a misgiving. It was unlikely that Barbara would address him thus
if she knew the truth; he hesitated before tearing it open.

Then he tried to persuade himself that of course she would have the
sense to keep up appearances for his own sake on the outside of the
letter, and he compelled himself to open the envelope with fingers that
trembled nervously.

The very first sentences scattered his faint expectations to the winds.
He read on with staring eyes, till the room seemed to rock with him like
a packet-boat and the sprawling school-girl handwriting, crossed and
recrossed on the thin paper, changed to letters of scorching flame. But
perhaps it will be better to give the letter in full, so that the reader
may judge for himself whether it was calculated or not to soothe and
encourage the exiled one.

Here it is:

"MY DEAREST DARLING DICK,--I hope you have not been expecting a
letter from me before this, but I had such lots to tell you that I
waited till I had time to tell it all at once. For I have such news
for you! You can't think how pleased you will be when you hear it.
Where shall I begin? I hardly know, for it still seems so funny and
strange--almost like a dream--only I hope we shall never wake up.

"I think I must tell you anyhow, just as it comes. Well, ever since
you went away, dear Father has been completely changed; you would
hardly believe it unless you saw him. He is quite jolly and
boyish--only fancy! and we are always telling him he is the biggest