Having read it, he re-read it; having re-read it, he read it over again.  Having read it over again, he meditated a little, exclaiming several times emphatically, “My darling Isobel,” and then he read bits of it here and there; having done which, he read the other bits, and so got through it again.  As the letter was a pretty long one, it took him a considerable time to do all this.  Then it suddenly occurred to him that he had been thus selfishly keeping it all to himself instead of sharing it with his father; so he started up and hastened back to the village, where he found Captain Ellice in earnest confabulation with the pastor of the place.  Seizing his parent by the arm, Fred led him into a room in the pastor’s house, and, looking round to make sure that it was empty, he sought to bolt the door.  But the door was a primitive one and had no bolt, so Fred placed a huge old-fashioned chair against it, and sitting down therein, while his father took a seat opposite, he unfolded the letter, and yet once again read it through.

The letter was about twelve months old, and ran thus:—­

GRAYTON, 25th July.

MY DARLING FRED,—­It is now two months since you left us, and it seems to me two years.  Oh, how I do wish that you were back!  When I think of the terrible dangers that you may be exposed to amongst the ice my heart sinks, and I sometimes fear that we shall never see you or your dear father again.  But you are in the hands of our Father in heaven, dear Fred, and I never cease to pray that you may be successful and return to us in safety.  Dear, good old Mr. Singleton told me yesterday that he had an opportunity of sending to the Danish settlements in Greenland, so I resolved to write, though I very much doubt whether this will ever find you in such a wild far-off land.

Oh, when I think of where you are, all the romantic stories I have ever read of Polar Regions spring up before me, and you seem to be the hero of them all.  But I must not waste my paper thus; I know you will be anxious for news.  I have very little to give you, however.  Good old Mr. Singleton has been very kind to us since you went away.  He comes constantly to see us, and comforts dear mamma very much.  Your friend, Dr. Singleton, will be glad to hear that he is well and strong.  Tell my friend Buzzby that his wife sends her ‘compliments!’ I laugh while I write the word.  Yes, she actually sends her ‘compliments’ to her husband.  She is a very stern but a really excellent woman.  Mamma and I visit her frequently when we chance to be in the village.  Her two boys are the finest little fellows I ever saw.  They are both so like each other that we cannot tell which is which when they are apart, and both are so like their father that we can almost fancy we see him when looking at either of them.

“The last day we were there, however, they were in disgrace, for Johnny had pushed Freddy into the washing-tub, and Freddy, in revenge, had poured a jug of treacle over Johnny’s head!  I am quite sure that Mrs. Buzzby is tired of being a widow—­as she calls herself—­and will be very glad when her husband comes back.  But I must reserve chit-chat to the end of my letter, and first give you a minute account of all your friends.”