easy and I have excellent
good friends. I send thee my key. Please deliver the red, tall
clock to Betsy Hale, who lives on the road to Waterbury Hill, and
kindly take that cheerful youngster from Connecticut--the one with
the walnut case and a brass pendulum--to Mrs. Henry Watson. You
remember that ill-tempered Dutch thing, with a loud gong and a
white dial, please take that to Harry Warner, I put some work on
them all but there's no charge. The other clocks belong to me. Do
with them as thou wilt and with all that is mine. The rent is paid
to April. Then kindly surrender the key. Now can ye do all this
for a man suffering the just punishment of many sins? I ask it for
old friendship and to increase the charity I saw growing in thy
heart long ago. At last I have word of thy father. He died a
peaceful, happy death, having restored the wealth that cursed him
to its owner. For his sake an' thine I am glad to know it. Now
between thee and the dear Polly there is no shadow. Tell her
everything. May the good God bless and keep thee; but the long
road of Happiness, that ye must seek and find.

"Yours truly,
"R. DARREL of the Blessed Isles."

Trove read the letter many times, and, as he grew strong, he began
to think with clearness and deliberation of his last night in
Hillsborough. Darrel was the greatest problem of all. Pondering
he saw, or thought he saw, the bottom of it. Events were coming,
however, that robbed him utterly of his conceit and all the hope it
gave him. The sad lines about his father kept him ever in some
doubt. A week more, and he was in the cutter one morning, behind
Phyllis, on his way to Robin's Inn. As he drew up at the old,
familiar gate the boys ran out to meet him. Somehow they were not
the same boys--they were a bit more sober and timid. Tunk came
with a "Glad to see ye, mister," and took the mare. The widow
stood in the doorway, smiling sadly.

"How is Polly?" said Trove.

For a moment there was no answer. He walked slowly to the steps,
knowing well that some new blow was about to fall upon him.

"She is better, but has been very sick," said the widow.

Trove sat down without speaking and threw his coat open.

"You, too, have been very sick," said Mrs. Vaughn.

"Yes, very," said he.

"I heard of it and went to your home one day, but you didn't know
me."

"Tell me, where is Polly?"

"In school, and I am much worried."

"Why?"

"Well, she's prett