It was not often that Mrs. Rushton received a letter. Neither she nor
her husband had possessed many relatives, and such as either had were
occupied with their own families, and little communication passed
between them and Captain Rushton’s family. Robert, therefore, seldom
called at the post office. One day, however, as he stepped in by a
neighbor’s request to inquire for letters for the latter, the postmaster
said, “There’s a letter for your mother, Robert.”
“Is there?” said our hero, surprised, “When did it come?”
“Yesterday. I was going to ask some one to carry it round to her, as you
don’t often call here.”
He handed the letter to Robert, who surveyed it with curiosity. It was
postmarked “Boston,” and addressed in a bold business hand to “Mrs.
Captain Rushton, Millville.”
“Who can be writing to mother from Boston?” thought Robert.
The size of the letter also excited his curiosity. There were two stamps
upon it, and it appeared bulky. Robert hurried home, and rushed into the
kitchen where his mother was at work.
“Here’s a letter for you, mother,” he said.
“A letter for me!” repeated Mrs. Rushton.
“From Boston.”
“I don’t know who would be likely to write me from there. Open it for
me, Robert.”
He tore open the envelope. It contained two inclosures–one a letter in
the same handwriting as the address; the other a large sheet of foolscap
rumpled up, and appearing once to have been rolled up, was written in
pencil. Mrs. Rushton had no sooner looked at the latter than she
exclaimed, in agitation: “Robert, it is your father’s handwriting. Read
it to me, I am too agitated to make it out.”
Robert was equally excited. Was his father still alive, or was this
letter a communication from the dead?
“First let me read the other,” he said. “It will explain about this.”
His mother sank back into a chair too weak with agitation to stand,
while her son rapidly read the following letter:
Mrs. Rushton listened to this letter with eager and painful interest,
her hands clasped, and her eyes fixed upon Robert.
“Now read your father’s letter,” she said, in a low tone.
Robert unfolded the sheet, and his eyes filled with tears as he gazed
upon the well-known handwriting of the father whose loss he had so long
lamented. This letter, too, we transcribe:
Here Captain Rushton signed his name.
The feelings with which Robert read and his mother listened to this
letter, were varied. Love and pity for the husband and father, now
doubtless long dead, were blended with surprise at the revelation of the
deposit made in the hands of the superintendent of the mill.
“Mother,” said Robert, “did you know anything of this money father
speaks of?”
“No,” said Mrs. Rushton, “he never told me. It is strange that Mr. Davis
has never informed us of it. Two years have passed, and we have long
given him up as lost.”
“Mother,” said Robert, “it is my opinion that he never intends to let us
know.”
“I cannot believe he would be so dishonorable.”
“But why should he keep back the knowledge? He knows that we are poor
and need the money.”
“But he has the reputation of an honorable man.”
“Many have had that reputation who do not deserve it,” said Robert.
“The temptation must have proved too strong for him.”
“What shall we do?”
“I know what I am going to do,” said Robert, resolutely. “I am going to
his house, and shall claim restitution of the money which father
intrusted to him. He has had it two years, and, with the interest, it
will amount to nearer six than five thousand dollars. It will be a
fortune, mother.”
“Don’t be hasty or impetuous, Robert,” said his mother. “Speak to him
respectfully.”
“I shall be civil if he is,” said Robert.
He took his cap, and putting it on, left the cottage and walked with a
quick pace to the house of the superintendent.
Nguồn: Wikisource English — Brave and Bold/Chapter XIX. Văn bản được nhập và định dạng lại; CC BY-SA 4.0, có thể áp dụng điều khoản bổ sung của tác phẩm.