Gumba Twamba. I can make it out now all right."

"Well, where, for the love of my old geography, is Gumba Twamba?"
asked the lad with a laugh.

"You've got me, Tom. Must be in Sweden, or Holland, or some of those
foreign countries. I don't often handle letters from there, so I
can't say. Why don't you open your letter and find out who its
from?"

"That's what I ought to have done at first." Quickly Tom ripped open
the much worn and frayed envelope, through the cracks of which some
parts of the letter already could be seen, showing that it had
traveled many thousand miles before it got to the village of
Shopton, in New York State.

"Well, I've got to be traveling on," remarked the postman, as Tom
started to read the mysterious letter. "I'm late as it is. You can
tell me the news when I pass again, Tom."

But the young inventor did not reply. He was too much engaged in
reading the missive, for, no sooner had he perused the first few
lines than his eyes began to open wide in wonder, and his manner
plainly indicated his surprise. He read the letter once, and then
over again, and when he had finished it a second time, he made a
dash for the house.

"I say dad!" cried Tom. "This is great! Great news here! Where are
you, dad? Say, Mrs. Baggert," he called as he saw the motherly
housekeeper, "where's father? I've got great news for him? Where is