ep in the interest of his letter, and it was not for
several minutes that he spoke again.

"Well, this is a very queer letter, and I cannot understand it at all. I
can make out that Edgar is very, very ill. And, Auntie, do you know he
seems to think perhaps he is never going to get well at all," Arthur said
very gravely and sadly.

"Has Edgar written to you himself?" asked his aunt.

"Yes. At least, that is, he said it, and one of his cousins wrote it down.
Would you like to read his letter, auntie?"

This was Edgar's letter to Arthur:

"MY DEAR ARTHUR,--My aunt is writing to your aunt, and my cousin Minnie is
writing this for me. I am in bed, so I am not able. You see, Arthur, I am
very ill, and the doctor says I shall not get better; but I am not afraid
now, dear Arthur. Cousin Minnie is very nice. I like her so much; but she
has to go away soon. Arthur, I hope you will be able to come. I have
prayed that you may; and I think your aunt will let you, because, you see,
I am going to die, most likely, and I want to see you again.

"Your affectionate friend,

"EDGAR NORTH."

"What can he mean, Aunt Daisy? What can he mean by saying, 'I hope you
will be able to come'? It is so strange not to explain."

"Do you think that will help you to understand?" asked his aunt, giving
him one of her own letters to read.

"What! Do you mean me to read your letter, auntie? Well!" said Arthur,
wondering at this unusual occurrence, and not connecting it at all with
his own letter.

Mrs. Estcourt's letter began 'Dear Madam,' and it was some little time
before Arthur could understand who it was from, or what it meant. By and
by he found that it was from Edgar's aunt, and that she was wishing him to
stay at her house in London, so that he might see her little nephew again.
This letter told that Edgar was very ill indeed; that his illness was
consumption, and that the doctor expected him to live only a very short
time.

It was several minutes before Arthur spoke, after he had read this letter.
Breakfast was quite forgotten, and he could hardly understand at first the
strange things he had read.

"Now, Arthur dear, you must eat some breakfast before we talk," said his
aunt.

"Aunt Daisy," he said, when he had finished, "What shall you say, when you
answer Edgar North's aunt's letter?"

"Well, what shall I say?"

"Auntie," said Arthur presently, "I am so sorry about Edgar. I ne