new Tower of Babel, when Mrs. Busvargus interposed and swept
the meal away; after which she disappeared into the back kitchen to
"wash up," and was no more seen; but we heard loud splashings at
intervals as if she had found a fountain, and were renewing her youth
in it.

Left to ourselves, we sat silent for a while, during which Uncle
Loveday refilled and lit his pipe and plunged again into thought,
with his eyes fixed on the rafters. Whether because his cogitations
led to something, or the tobacco had soothed him sufficiently, he
finally turned to me and asked--

"Have you got that packet?"

I produced it. He took his big red handkerchief from his pocket,
spread it on the table, and began slowly to undo the strap.
Then after arranging apart the buckle, the letter, and the tin box,
he inquired--

"Was it like this when the man gave it to you?"

"No, the letter was separate. I slipped it under the strap to keep
it safe."

"It seems to me," said my uncle, adjusting his spectacles and
unfolding the paper, "illegible, or almost so. It has evidently been
thoroughly soaked with salt water. Come here and see if your young
eyes can help me to decipher it."

We bent together over the blurred handwriting. The letter was
evidently in a feminine hand; but the characters were rudely and
inartistically formed, while every here and there a heavy down-stroke
or flourish marred the beauty of the page. Wherever such thick lines
occurred the ink had run and formed an illegible smear. Such as it
was, with great difficulty, and after frequent trials, we spelt out
the letter as follows:--

"The Welc . . . Home, Barbican, Plymo."
"My Deerest Jack,--This to hope it will find You quite well, as
it leaves Me at present. Also to say that I hope this voyage
. . . _new Leaf_ with Simon as Companny, who is a _Good
Friend_, though, as you well know, I did not think . . . came
_courting me_. But it is for the best, and . . . liquor . . .
which I pray to Heaven may begin happier Days. Trade is very
poor, and I do not know . . . little Jenny, who is getting on
_Famously_ with her Schooling. She keaps the Books already,
which is a great saving . . . looks in often and sits in the
parlour. He says as you have Done Well to be . . . _Wave_, but
misdoubts Simon, which I tell him must be wrong, for it was him
that advised . . . the fuss and warned against