swer to the appeal.

"My dear Niece," it began, "Since you, by your own foolish conduct and
opposition to all our wishes, separated yourself from your family, and
went your own way in life, I have heard little of you, as the death of
your parents so shortly afterwards deprived me of all sources of
information. I regret to hear of the loss which you have suffered. I
have already taken the necessary steps to carry out your wishes. I
yesterday dined with a friend, who is one of the directors of the
Honorable East India Company, and at my request he has kindly placed a
writership in the Company at your son's service. He will have to come
up to London to see the board, next week, and will probably have to
embark for India a fortnight later. I shall be glad if he will take up
his abode with me, during the intervening time. I shall be glad also
if you will favour me with a statement of your income and expenses,
with such details as you may think necessary. I inclose four
five-pound bank notes, in order that your son may obtain such garments
as may be immediately needful for his appearance before the board of
directors, and for his journey to London. I remain, my dear niece,
yours sincerely,

"Joshua Tufton."

"It is cruel," Mrs. Marryat sobbed, "cruel to take you away from us,
and send you to India, where you will most likely die of fever, or be
killed by a tiger, or stabbed by one of those horrid natives, in a
fortnight."

"Not so bad as that, Mother, I hope," Charlie said sympathizingly,
although he could not repress a smile; "other people have managed to
live out there, and have come back safe."

"Yes," Mrs. Marryat said, sobbing; "I know how you will come back. A
little, yellow, shrivelled up old man with no liver, and a dreadful
temper, and a black servant. I know what it will be."

This time Charlie could not help laughing.

"That's looking too far ahead altogether, Mother. You take the two
extremes. If I don't die in a fortnight, I am to live to be a
shrivelled old man. I'd rather take a happy medium, and look forward
to coming back before my liver is all gone, or my temper all
destroyed, with lots of money to make you and the girls comfortable.

"There is only one thing. I wish it had been a cadetship, instead of a
writership."

"That is my only comfort," Mrs. Marryat said. "If it had been a
cadetship, I should have written to say that I would not let you go.
It is bad enough as it is; but if you had had to