CHAPTER XIII.
"Die Welt kann dir nichts darbieten, was sie von dir nicht empfinge."-- SCHILLER, _Der Menschenfeind_.
After Alister had done the captain's business, he made his way to the post-office and got our letters, thinking, as he cannily observed, that in widespread misfortunes the big are implicated with the little, that fire spares public buildings no more than private residences, and that if the post-office was overtaken by the flames, we might lose not only words of affection, but perhaps enclosures of value.

In short, he had brought our letters, and dearly welcome they were.
I had three; one from my father, one from my mother (with a postscript by Jem), and a long one from Charlie.

I read my father's first; the others were sure to be tender and chatty, and I could enjoy them at leisure.
My father's letter was, for him, a wonderful effort of composition, and it was far kinder than I had expected or deserved.

He blamed me; but he took some blame to himself for our misunderstandings, which he hoped would never recur.

He said (very justly) that if he had spoken harshly, he had acted as he believed to be best for me.