They crossed the creek by a little footbridge used by those who kept
boats near by, climbed the fence by the meadow, and then started
straight across, Dick keeping his eyes eagerly on the alert for any sign
of a white paper.
Before they had more than half crossed the field, with the river half
hidden in the trees and brushwood beyond he gave an exclamation of
delight.
"Look over there, sir, just where that oak stands; there is something
white in the scrub at its butt. Perhaps that may be what we are looking
for."
"I hope so, Richard, I truly hope so," replied the tender-hearted
teller, who had taken a great fancy for the boy, and felt deeply grieved
over the calamity that seemed to be hovering over his head, for if Dick
turned out to be a rogue Mr. Winslow believed he would never be able to
trust any lad again.
Hurrying forward they were soon at the base of the tree, Dick having his
eyes fixed upon the white paper that had become caught in the twigs of
the brush.
"It's the letter, all right, sir. Please take it out yourself. Mr.
Goodwyn would not trust me to touch it, I'm afraid," he said, a little
bitterly.
So the teller immediately reached into the copse and gently but eagerly
drew the paper out; he scanned its entire contents before saying a
word, while Dick watched the look of pleasure that began to steal across
his face.
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