ut, Bobby. Do you remember
the picture of the golden gates? I found the little black children and
women here were so interested in hearing about it that I set to work
and drew and painted a big picture after the fashion of that beautiful
one in your grandmother's Bible. I used to draw a good deal when I was
a girl, but my attempt is very poor when I think of the original.
Still the children here were so delighted with it that I wondered if
you would be too. So I set to work to paint another, and this one is
coming to you through the post. Perhaps Nurse will hang it up in your
nursery for you. How is Nobbles? Give him my love. I hope he doesn't
cut off the heads of the poor flowers now. He will be older and wiser
I expect. Are you still sitting up in bed at night and fancying you
hear your father's knock? Or do you sit in your apple-tree and think
you see him coming along the road? How I hope he will arrive home one
day and take you by surprise! I have not forgotten that I am to try to
find him for you, and curiously enough I heard his name mentioned the
other evening when I was dining with some old friends of mine. And who
do you think was talking about him, Bobby? Your Uncle Mortimer. Isn't
it funny that I should meet him out here? I knew him when I was a
little girl, but of course he did not remember me. There was a Major
Knatchbull, who had met your father in South America, but he had not
seen him for several years. I told your uncle that I wanted to find
your father, and then we discovered that we had both promised the same
small boy to do so. How I hope we shall succeed in our quest! Now I
must tell you why I am feeling sad. I have not been well since I came
out here, and the doctors tell me that I must not stay in India. So
that means I must give up my work, which I was beginning to love, and
come back to my empty house and home. Will you come and comfort me if
I do? It won't be just yet, for I shall stay out here till the rainy
season is over. Good-bye, my darling. If you can write me a little
letter I shall be so glad to get it. Your Uncle Mortimer has just
asked me to go for a ride with him, so I must stop.

Your very loving friend,
ISOBEL GRANTHAM.'

'Well,' said Mr. Allonby, 'that letter comes from a nice woman, Bobby.
Who is she? And how many people have you set to work looking for your
missing father?'

Bobby looked up gravely.

'Only her and Master Mortimer. I likes t