NOW TAKE SOME MORE CAKE, ALL OF YOU, AND I WILL GO ON."
Barbara awoke almost with the birds, after two or three hours of fitful
sleep, and with a rush came the memory of last night's events. Her first
thought was for the quick and safe departure of the stranger, and weariness
of head told her it was time to seek advice.
"Oh, if father were here!" was the burden of her thoughts. But he was far
away, and the immediate question was whom to ask for help. She ticked off
the neighbouring gentlemen, and decided against them one by one. Old Digger
was useless. Matthew Hale was sound, but stupid. Everything pointed to her
brother Philip.
No sooner had she made up her mind than Barbara turned to her writing-table
and penned a laborious letter to the Rev. Jeremy. Poor Barbara! Spelling
was not her strongest point, nor, indeed, did anyone then mind whether
spelling was good or bad. She wrote as follows:
DEARE AND REVEREND SIR,
"My father has riden to London and I would faine not be without manlie
companie in so grate an house (olde Digger being worthie and trustie but a
lyttel deaf and stiffe). Therefor I pray you let me have my brother Philip
and his friends for this daye that I may be more at mine ease.
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