"
"Then we will write before leaving, but I doubt if the letter will
be in advance of us."
It was not. John Millard's home was a couple of miles distant from
Austin, and the mail was not gone for with any regularity. Besides,
at this time, John was attending to his duties in the Legislature,
and Phyllis relied upon his visits to the post-office.
It was a pleasant afternoon in June when the stage deposited them in
the beautiful city, and after some refreshment Richard got a buggy
and determined to drive out to the Millard place. Half a mile distant
from it they met a boy about seven years old on a mustang, and Richard
asked him if he could direct him to Captain Millard's house.
"I reckon so," said the little chap, with a laugh. "I generally stop
there, if I'm not on horseback."
"O, indeed! What is your name?"
"My name is Richard Millard. What's your name, sir?"
"My name is Richard Fontaine; and I shouldn't wonder if you are my
nephew."
"I'm about certain you are my uncle. And is that my English aunt? Wont
ma be glad? Say, wont you hurry up? I was going into the city. My pa's
going to speak to-night. Did you ever hear my pa speak?"
"No; but I should like to do so."
"I should think you would. See! There's ma. That is Lulu hanging on
to her, and that is Sam Houston in her arms.
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