though, to finish rapidly; but then he sat still until the pen dried,
and no further word had been added. Again he dipped his pen, and again
let it dry. If the first sentence of the letter had taken as long to
compose as the second, it was no wonder that a caller had caused an
interruption.

The letter, as it lay before him, had about a third of its page written
in a neat, forcible hand. The arms of his young college were printed at
the top. He had written:--

My dear brother,--I am very much concerned not to have heard
from you for so long. I have written to your old address in Montreal,
but received no answer.

Here came the stop. At last he put pen to paper and went on:--

Even though we have disagreed as to what occupation is best for
you to follow, and also as to the degree of reserve that is desirable
as to what our father did, you must surely know that there is nothing
I desire more than your highest welfare.

After looking at this sentence for a little while he struck his pen
through the word "highest," and then, offended with the appearance of
the obliteration, he copied this much of the letter on a fresh sheet and
again stopped.

When he continued, it was on the old sheet. He made a rough copy of the
letter--writing, crossing out, and rewriting. It seemed that the task to
which he had set himself was almost harder than could appear possible,
for, as he became more absorbed in it, there was evidence of discomfort