"Very well, sir," replied his son, and the two men went on with their work
without further words. They were in the habit of despatching important
business with the smallest possible waste of breath.

On Thursday morning, immediately after breakfast, Cyrus Woodbridge found
himself summoned to his father's library. He presented himself at once, a
round-cheeked, bright-eyed lad of fifteen, with an air of alertness in
every line of him.

"Cyrus," said his father, "I have a commission for you to undertake, of a
character which I cannot now explain to you. I want you to take this
envelope"--he held out a large and bulky packet--"and, without saying
anything to any one, follow its instructions to the letter. I ask of you
your word of honor that you will do so."

The two pairs of eyes looked into each other for a moment, singularly alike
in a certain intent expression, developed into great keenness in the man,
but showing as yet only an extreme wide-awakeness in the boy. Cyrus
Woodbridge had an engagement with a young friend in half an hour, but he
responded, firmly:--

"I will, sir."

"On your honor?"

"Yes, sir."

"That is all I want. Go to your room, and read your instructions. Then
start at once."