when Mr. Reed was out. Of
course--(the letter went on to say)--Mr. Reed would object if he knew,
for it was to his interest to claim her; but truth was truth, and George
Reed was no relation to her whatever. The person she had been taught to
call Aunt Kate was really her mother, and it was her mother's own
brother, Eben, who was writing this letter. All he asked for was an
interview. He had a great deal to say to her, and Mr. Reed was a tyrant
who would keep her a prisoner if he could, so that her own Uncle Eben
could not even see her. He had been unfortunate and lost all his money.
If he was rich he would see that he and his dear niece Delia had their
rights, in spite of the tyrant who held her in bondage. She _must_
manage to see him,--(so ran the letter)--and she could put a letter for
him, after dark that night, under the large stone by the walnut-tree
behind the summer-house. He would come and see her at any time she
mentioned. No girl of spirit would be held, for a single day, in such
bondage, especially when sacred duties called her elsewhere. The writer
concluded by calling her again his dear Delia, and signing himself her
affectionate uncle, Eben Slade.

Early on that same evening, Sailor Jack, reaching the summer-house by a
circuitous route, stealthily laid a dainty-looking note under the large
stone by the walnut tree. He held his breath as he lingered a moment
among the shadows. Ah, if he only could have his own way, what a chance
this would be to leave that paltry thrashing at Vanbogen's far in the
background! How he longed to get his hands on Eben Slade once more! But,
no; he had received his instructions, and must obey. Besides, Slade was
too wary a man to be caught this time. So poor Jack was forced to go
back to the stables, and there bustle noisily about as though nothing
unusual were expected.

But it was some satisfaction to follow Mr. Reed's further orders to keep
a sharp lookout all that night, about the premises. Meantime Eben Slade,
who like most men of his sort was a coward at heart, had hastily
withdrawn to a safe distance, after finding what he sought under the
walnut-tree. Soon he sat down in the woods that crossed his road, and
there, by the light of a candle-end that he had with him, eagerly opened
the dainty letter.

The man clutched the paper angrily as he read. It was not from the poor,
frightened girl whose words he had hoped to see, but from Mr. Reed,--a
plain, strong letter, that,