have not been kind enough; but God knows how we love you, my dear
only boy. Don looks so sorry you are gone. Come back, and make us
happy, who love you so much. I know you will come back."


But Peter did not come back. That spring day was the last time he
ever saw his mother's face. The writer of the letter--the last--
the only person who had ever seen what was written in it, was dead
long ago; and I, a stranger, not born at the time when this
occurrence took place, was the one to open it.

The captain's letter summoned the father and mother to Liverpool
instantly, if they wished to see their boy; and, by some of the
wild chances of life, the captain's letter had been detained
somewhere, somehow.

Miss Matty went on, "And it was racetime, and all the post-horses
at Cranford were gone to the races; but my father and mother set
off in our own gig--and oh! my dear, they were too late--the ship
was gone! And now read Peter's letter to my mother!"

It was full of love, and sorrow, and pride in his new profession,
and a sore sense of his disgrace in the eyes of the people at
Cranford; but ending with a passionate entreaty that she would come
and see him before he left the Mersey: "Mother; we may go into
battle. I hope we shall, and lick those French: but I must see
you again before that time."

"And she was too late," said Miss Matty; "too late!"