e's manner, unconsciously to himself, had changed since that
first row of gold coins had gone into the black tin box; the tellers
and the bookkeepers had observed it, and they began to watch his mail
again. What was their glee to see among Jamie's papers, one morning, a
letter in the familiar feminine hand! "Jamie's foreign mail has come!"
the word went round. "I thought it must be on its way," said the
second bookkeeper; "haven't you noticed his looks lately?" "The letter
is postmarked New Orleans," said the messenger boy, turning it over.
But it was felt this went beyond friendly sympathy.

"Mr. O'Neill," said Mr. Stanchion sternly, "if I see you again
interfering with McMurtagh's mail, you may go. What business is that
of ours?"

Poor O'Neill hung his head, abashed. But all eyes were on Jamie as he
opened his desk. He put the letter in his pocket. The clerks looked at
one another. The suspense became unendurable. When old Mr. Bowdoin
came in, the cashier told him what had happened. "Jamie's foreign mail
has come again. But he will never read it here, sir, and we can't
send him out till lunch-time: the chief bookkeeper"--

The old gentleman's eyes twinkled. "McMurtagh!" he cried (Mr. Bowdoin
had always called Jamie so since he came into the bank), "will you
kindly step down to my counting-room? I will meet you there in a few
minutes, and there are some accounts I want you to straighten out for
me."

As Jamie hurried down to the Long Wharf, he pressed his coat tight
against him. The letter lay in his pocket, and he felt it warm against
his breast.

Neither Mr. James Bowdoin nor Harley was in the little room (it was
just as Jamie remembered it when he first had entered it, no pretense
of business was made there now), and he tore the letter open. Thus it
ran:--

NEW ORLEANS, _August 30, 1849_.

MY DEAR, DEAR JAMIE,--If I have not written to you it was only because
I did not want to bring more trouble on you. But things have gone from
bad to worse with us. I feel that I should be almost too unhappy to
live, only that David is with me now. [Jamie sobbed a little at
this.] I wanted never to ask you for money again. But we are very,
very poor. I will not give it to him. But if you could send me a
little money, a hundred dollars would last me a long time.

Your loving M. ST. CLAIR.

Jamie laid his head upon the old desk, and his tears fell on the
letter. What could h