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.
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