went to see Miss Bennet’s mother at the Berlin shop, and left it himself as he drove home, with a bottle of red lavender for my palpitations.  I shall never forget his kindness.  He sat here for an hour and a half on Sunday, and spoke of you to your father as if you had been his own son; and he said himself as he walked up and down Miss Bennet’s, right through the shop and into the back parlour and out again, talking about you, till the place was quite full, and Mrs. Simpson could not remember what she had dropped in for, which, as Dr. Brown said, was not to be wondered at, considering Miss Bennet completely forgot to take him up-stairs to see her mother, and it never crossed his own mind till he stopped at our door and found the old lady’s sleeping draught with my red drops.  He says he called at your Uncle Henry’s office, and congratulated him on having a nephew of spirit, and it was market day, so the office was full.  Jem says I am to leave room for him, as he can’t think of enough to say to fill a letter of his own, so I will only say GOD bless you! my darling boy, and bring you safe home to your poor mother.

“P.S.—­If you love me come as quick as you can.  You shall go off again.”

This was Charlie’s letter: 

“MY DEAR JACK—­I was so glad to get your letter.  I knew you had gone off at last.  It did not surprise me, for I was sure you would go some day.  I believe I have a very mean spirit, for I felt rather hurt at first that you did not tell me; but Mr. Wood gave me a good scolding, and said I was not fit to have a friend if I could not trust him out of sight or out of hearing.  And that’s quite true.  Besides, I think I knew more about it after Jem had been down.  He has been so jolly to me since you left.  It must be a splendid life on board ship, and I am glad you have been in the rigging, and didn’t fall off.  I wish you had seen an iceberg or a water-spout, but perhaps you will.  For two days and two nights I was very miserable, and then Jenny rode down on Shag, and brought me a book that did me a great deal of good, and I’ll tell you why.  It’s about a man whose friend is going to travel round the world, like you, and he has to be left behind, like me.  Well, what does he do but make up his mind to travel round his own garden, and write a history of his adventures, just as if he had been abroad.  And that’s the book; and you can’t tell what a jolly one it is.  I mean to do the same, only as you are at sea I shall call it a Log, ’Log of a Voyage round the Garden, the Croft, and the Orchard, by the Friend he left behind him.’  That’s good, isn’t it?  I’ve been rather bothered about whether I should have separate books for each, or mix them all up; and then, besides, I’ve got to consider how to manage about the different times of year, for you know, of course, the plants and the beasts and everything are different at different times; but if I have a log of each place for each month, it would not be done by the time you come home.  I