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Then after arranging apart the buckle, the letter, and the tin box,
he inquired--
"Was it like this when the man gave it to you?"
"No, the letter was separate. I slipped it under the strap to keep
it safe."
"It seems to me," said my uncle, adjusting his spectacles and
unfolding the paper, "illegible, or almost so. It has evidently been
thoroughly soaked with salt water. Come here and see if your young
eyes can help me to decipher it."
We bent together over the blurred handwriting. The letter was
evidently in a feminine hand; but the characters were rudely and
inartistically formed, while every here and there a heavy down-stroke
or flourish marred the beauty of the page. Wherever such thick lines
occurred the ink had run and formed an illegible smear. Such as it
was, with great difficulty, and after frequent trials, we spelt out
the letter as follows:--
"The Welc . . . Home, Barbican, Plymo."
"My Deerest Jack,--This to hope it will find You quite well, as
it leaves Me at present. Also to say that I hope this voyage
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