Only last summer I have receive his letter.

He have found plenty gold, an' is rich.

He say when he come back, then he will buy for me a new rifle an' give me much money.

But what does Jean care for money?
Rather I would see my frien' whose letter I have always keep." The old man ceased speaking and looked retrospectively into the fire.
Then, without speaking, he rose, shuffled to a small table in one corner of the room, and opening the drawer took from it a well-thumbed envelope.

Returning to the group he handed it to Grace, saying proudly: "This is the letter my frien' write.