The following story has spread like wild-fire through the forest. Early
this morning as the little daughter of Mathes was on her way to plant
wild-rose trees upon her father's grave, she saw the gleam of something
white. Upon the mound had been placed a staff from which a piece of
paper was fluttering. The girl ran home to her mother, and the latter
hastened to me, begging me to come and explain it to her.
It is most remarkable. It is news from the boy. On the paper in strange
handwriting were the words:
"My mother and my sister! Bear me no ill-will and do not worry. I am
in the school of the Cross.
"LAZARUS."
They all looked to me for an explanation. The boy could neither read
nor write, as can hardly anyone in the forest. They think that I, being
learned, ought to know everything.