Free Afloat and Ashore by James Fenimore Cooper

it from Clawbonny?" I asked, eagerly. "If so, from Lucy,
doubtless?"
    "From Clawbonny—but from Grace," he answered, with a slight change of
colour. "I desired the poor girl to let me know how things passed off,
after we left them; and as for Lucy, her pot-hooks are so much out of
the way, I never want to see them."
    I felt hurt, offended, that my sister should write to any youngster
but myself. It is true, the letter was to a bosom friend, a
co-adventurer, one almost a child of the same family; and I had come
to the office expecting to get a letter from Rupert's sister, who had
promised, while weeping on the wharf, to do exactly the same thing for
me; but there
is
a difference between one's sister writing to
another young man, and another young man's sister writing to
oneself. I cannot even now explain it; but that there
is
a
difference I am sure. Without asking to see a line that Grace had
written, I went into the office, and returned in a minute or two, with
an air of injured dignity, holding Lucy's epistle in my hand.
    After all, there was nothing in either letter to excite much
sensibility. Each was written with the simplicity, truth and feeling
of a generous-minded, warm-hearted female friend, of an age not to
distrust her own motives, to a lad who bad no right to view the favour
other than it was, as an evidence of early and intimate friendship.
Both epistles are now before me, and I copy them, as the shortest way
of letting the reader know the effect our disappearance had produced
at Clawbonny. That of Grace was couched in the following terms:
    DEAR RUPERT:
    Clawbonny was in commotion at nine o'clock this morning, and well it
might be! When your father's anxiety got to be painful, I told him the
whole, and gave him the letters. I am sorry to say, he wept. I wish
never to see such a sight again. The tears of two such silly girls as
Lucy and I, are of little account—but, Rupert, to behold an aged man
we love and respect like him, a minister of the gospel too, in tears!
It was a hard sight to bear. He did not reproach us for our silence,
saying he did not see, after our promises, how we could well do
otherwise. I gave your reasons about "responsibility in the premises;"
but I don't think he understood them. Is it too late to return? The
boat that carried you down can bring you back; and oh! how much
rejoiced shall we all be to see you! Wherever you go, and whatever you
do, boys, for I write as much to one as to the other, and only address
to Rupert because he so earnestly desired it; but wherever you go, and
whatever you do, remember the instructions you have both received in
youth, and how much all of us are interested in your conduct and
happiness.
    Affectionately, yours,
    GRACE WALLINGFORD.
    To Mr. Rupert Hardinge.
    Lucy had been less guarded, and possibly a little more honest. She
wrote as follows:
    DEAR MILES:
    I believe I cried for one whole hour after you and Rupert left us,
and, now it is all over, I am vexed at having cried so much about two
such foolish fellows. Grace has told you all about my dear, dear
father, who cried too. I declare, I don't know when I was so
frightened! I thought it
must
bring you back, as soon as you
hear of it. What will be done, I do not know; but
something
, I
am certain Whenever father is in earnest, he says but little. I know
he is in earnest
now
. I believe Grace and I do nothing but
think of you; that is, she of
you
, and I of Rupert; and a
little the other way, too—so now you have the whole truth. Do not
fail, on any account, to write before you go to sea, if you
do
go to sea, as I hope and trust you will not.
    Good-bye.
    LUCY HARDINGE.
    To Mr. Miles Wallingford.
    P.S. Neb's mother protests, if the boy is not home by Saturday night,
she will go after him. No such disgrace as a runaway ever befel her or
hers, and she says she will not submit to it. But I suppose we shall
see
him
soon, and with him
letters
.
    Now, Neb had taken his leave, but no letter had been trusted to