Seizing his parent by the arm, Fred led him into a room in the pastor's house, and, looking round to make sure that it was empty, he sought to bolt the door.

But the door was a primitive one and had no bolt, so Fred placed a huge old-fashioned chair against it, and sitting down therein, while his father took a seat opposite, he unfolded the letter, and yet once again read it through.
The letter was about twelve months old, and ran thus:-- GRAYTON, _25th July._ MY DARLING FRED,--It is now two months since you left us, and it seems to me two years.

Oh, how I _do_ wish that you were back! When I think of the terrible dangers that you may be exposed to amongst the ice my heart sinks, and I sometimes fear that we shall never see you or your dear father again.

But you are in the hands of our Father in heaven, dear Fred, and I never cease to pray that you may be successful and return to us in safety.

Dear, good old Mr.Singleton told me yesterday that he had an opportunity of sending to the Danish settlements in Greenland, so I resolved to write, though I very much doubt whether this will ever find you in such a wild far-off land.
Oh, when I think of where you are, all the romantic stories I have ever read of Polar Regions spring up before me, and _you_ seem to be the hero of them all.