do. No one ever knew when he would go out or come in or
where he would choose to sleep or if he would roam about the garden or
lie in the boat on the lake all night. The man held a salver with some
letters on it and he waited quietly until Mr. Craven took them. When
he had gone away Mr. Craven sat a few moments holding them in his hand
and looking at the lake. His strange calm was still upon him and
something more--a lightness as if the cruel thing which had been done
had not happened as he thought--as if something had changed. He was
remembering the dream--the real--real dream.

"In the garden!" he said, wondering at himself. "In the garden! But
the door is locked and the key is buried deep."

When he glanced at the letters a few minutes later he saw that the one
lying at the top of the rest was an English letter and came from
Yorkshire. It was directed in a plain woman's hand but it was not a
hand he knew. He opened it, scarcely thinking of the writer, but the
first words attracted his attention at once.

"Dear Sir:

I am Susan Sowerby that made bold to speak to you once on the moor. It
was about Miss Mary I spoke. I will make bold to speak again. Please,
sir, I would come home if I was you. I think you would be glad to come
and--if you will excuse me, sir--I think your lady would ask you to
come if she was here.

Your obedient servant,
Susan Sowerby."

Mr. Craven read the letter twice before he put it back in its envelope.
He kept thinking about the dream.

"I will go back to Misselthwaite," he said. "Yes, I'll go at once."

And he went through the garden to the villa and ordered Pitcher to
prepare for his return to England.

In a few days he was in Yorkshire again, and on his long railroad
journey he found himself thinking of his boy as he had never thought in
all the ten years past. During those years he had only wished to
forget him. Now, though he did not intend to think about him, memories
of him constantly drifted into his mind. He remembered the black days
when he had raved like a madman because the child was alive and the
mother was dead. He had refused to see it, and when he had gone to
look at it at last it had been, such a weak wretched thing that
everyone had been sure it would die in a few days. But to the surprise
of those who took care of it the days passed and it lived and then
everyone believed it would be a deformed and