of her own. She had put her name with John’s at the end of his, so that these two had sent one letter between them. Mother’s letter had been the longest of all, but Roger did not know what she had said in it. All the letters had gone together, a very long way, to his father, whose ship was at Malta but under orders for Hong-Kong. And there, in his mother’s hand, was the red envelope that had brought the answer. For a moment Roger wanted to run straight to her. But sail was the thing, not steam, so he tacked on, heading, perhaps, a little closer to the wind. At last he headed straight into the wind, moved slower and slower, came to a stop at his mother’s side, began to move backwards, and presently brought up with a little jerk, anchored, and in harbour.
“Is it the answer?” he panted, out of breath after all that beating up against the wind. “Does he say Yes?”
Mother smiled, and read the telegram aloud:
Better drowned than duffers if not duffers wont drown.
“Does that mean Yes?” asked Roger.
“I think so.”
“Does it mean me, too?”
“Yes, if John and Susan will take you, and if you promise to do whatever they tell you.”
“Hurrah,” shouted Roger, and capered about, forgetting for a moment that he was a ship, and anchored in a quiet harbour.
“Where are the others?” asked mother.
“In Darien,” said Roger.
“Where?”