wrote a rambling, good-humored letter, a mixture of business, news,
advice and nonsense. "The Black Brig" had gone into another edition.
Considering my opinion of such "slush" I should be ashamed to accept
the royalties, but he would continue to give my account credit for them
until I cabled to the contrary. He trusted we were behaving ourselves in
a manner which would reflect credit upon our country. I was to be sure
not to let Hephzy marry a title. And so on, for six pages. The letter
was almost like a chat with Jim himself, and I read it with chuckles and
a pang of homesickness.

One of the envelopes bore Hephzy's name and I, of course, did not
open it. It was postmarked "Bayport" and I thought I recognized the
handwriting as Susanna Wixon's. The third letter turned out to be not
a letter at all, but a bill from Sylvanus Cahoon, who took care of our
"lots" in the Bayport cemetery. It had been my intention to pay all
bills before leaving home, but, somehow or other, Sylvanus's had been
overlooked. I must send him a check at once.

The fourth and last envelope was stained and crumpled. It had traveled
a long way. To my surprise I noticed that the stamp in the corner was
English and the postmark "London." The address, moreover, was "Captain
Barnabas Cahoon, Bayport, Massachusetts, U. S. A." The letter had
obviously been mailed in London, had journeyed to Bayport, from there
to New York, and had then been forwarded to London again. Someone,
presumably Simmons, the postmaster, had written "Care Hosea Knowles"
and my publisher's New York address in the lower corner. This had been
scratched out and "28 Camford Street, London, England," added.

I looked at the envelope. Who in the world, or in England, could have
written Captain Barnabas--Captain Barnabas Cahoon, my great-uncle, dead
so many years? At first I was inclined to hand the letter, unopened, to
Hephzy. She was Captain Barnabas's daughter and it belonged to her
by right. But I knew Hephzy had no secrets from me and, besides,
my curiosity was great. At length I yielded to it and tore open the
envelope.

Inside was a sheet of thin foreign paper, both sides covered with
writing. I read the first line.

"Captain Barnabas Cahoon.

"Sir:

"You are my nearest relative, my mother's father, and I--"

"I uttered an exclamation. Then I stepped to the door of the private
office, made sure that it was shut, came back, sat down in the chair
before the desk which Mr.