It's a letter, I'm sure; and it must be from Eric!" Old Lorischen bounced out of her chair at this announcement and was at the door of the room almost as soon as her mistress; but, before either could touch the handle, it was opened from without, and Fritz came into the apartment.
"Hurrah, mother!" he shouted out in joyful tones.

"Here's news from Eric at last! A letter in his own dear handwriting.

I have not opened it yet; but it must have been put on board some passing vessel homewards bound, as it is marked `ship's letter,' and I've had to pay two silbergroschen for it.

Open it and read, mother dear; I'm so anxious to hear what our boy says." With trembling hands Madame Dort tore the envelope apart, and soon made herself mistress of the contents of the letter.

It was only a short scrawl which the sailor lad had written off hurriedly to take advantage of the opportunity of sending a message home by a passing ship, as his brother had surmised--Eric not expecting to have been able to forward any communication until the vessel reached the Cape; and, the stranger only lying-to for a brief space of time to receive the despatches of the _Gustav Barentz_, he could merely send a few hasty lines, telling them that he was well and happy, although he missed them all very much, and sending his "dearest love" to his "own little mother" and "dear brother Fritz," not forgetting "darling, cross old Lorischen," and the "cream- stealing Mouser." "Just hear that, the little fond rascal!" exclaimed the worthy old nurse, when Madame Dort read out this postscript.