"Where do you expect letters from?"

"From Toronto," I replied.

To my no small astonishment she immediately handed me a letter, bearing
the Toronto post-mark. The address was in the peculiar and well-known
handwriting of my uncle Richard.

Scarcely crediting the evidence of my senses I tore open the envelope,
and read as follows:--



"TORONTO, 9th December, 1861.

"MY DEAR WILLIAM--I am so glad to know that you are coming home so much
sooner than you expected when you wrote last, and that you will eat
your Christmas dinner with us. For reasons which you will learn when
you arrive, it will not be a very merry Christmas at our house, but
your presence will make it much more bearable than it would be without
you. I have not told Alice that you are coming. Let it be a joyful
surprise for her, as some compensation for the sorrows she has had to
endure lately. You needn't telegraph. I will meet you at the G. W. R.
station.

"Your affectionate uncle,
"RICHARD YARDINGTON."

"Why, what's the matter?" asked my friend, seeing the blank look of