"
Cyril, as soon as the fisherman had gone, stole up to his little
room. He was but twelve years old, and he threw himself down on his
bed and cried bitterly. Then a thought struck him; he went to his
box, and took out from it a sealed parcel; on it was written, "To my
son. This parcel is only to be opened should you find yourself in
great need, Your Loving Mother." He remembered how she had placed it
in his hands a few hours before her death, and had said to him,--
"Put this away, Cyril. I charge you let no one see it. Do not speak
of it to anyone--not even to your father. Keep it as a sacred gift,
and do not open it unless you are in sore need. It is for you, and
you alone. It is the sole thing that I have to leave you; use it with
discretion. I fear that hard times will come upon you."
Cyril felt that his need could hardly be sorer than it was now, and
without hesitation he broke the seals, and opened the packet. He
found first a letter directed to himself. It began,--
"MY DARLING CYRIL,--I trust that it will be many years before you
open this parcel and read these words. I have left the enclosed as a
parting gift to you. I know not how long this exile may last, or
whether you will ever be able to return to England. But whether you
do or not, it may well be that the time will arrive when you may find
yourself in sore need. Your father has been a loving husband to me,
and will, I am sure, do what he can for you; but he is not provident
in his habits, and may not, after he is left alone, be as careful in
his expenditure as I have tried to be.
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