and wags his head at
it as if he thought it grand."

"Say you so?" asked Cathro, suspiciously; "does he leave what he writes
lying about, Aaron?"

"No, but he takes it to you, does he no'?"

"Not him," said the Dominie, emphatically. "I may be mistaken, Aaron,
but I'm doubting the young whelp is at his tricks again."

The Dominie was right, and before many days passed he discovered what
was Tommy's new and delicious occupation.

For years Mr. Cathro had been in the habit of writing letters for such
of the populace as could not guide a pen, and though he often told them
not to come deaving him he liked the job, unexpected presents of a hen
or a ham occasionally arriving as his reward, while the personal matters
thus confided to him, as if he were a safe for the banking of private
histories, gave him and his wife gossip for winter nights. Of late the
number of his clients had decreased without his noticing it, so
confident was he that they could not get on without him, but he
received a shock at last from Andrew Dickie, who came one Saturday night
with paper, envelope, a Queen's head, and a request for a letter for
Bell Birse, now of Tilliedrum.

"You want me to speir in your name whether she'll have you, do you?"
asked Cathro, with a flourish of his pen.

"It's no just so simple as that," said Andrew, and then he seemed to be
rather at a loss to say what it was. "I dinna ken," he continued
presently with a grave face, "whether you've noticed that I'm a gey
queer deevil? Losh, I think I'm the queerest deevil I ken."

"We are all that," the Dominie assured him. "But what do you want me to
write?"

"Well, it's like this," said Andrew, "I'm willing to marry her if she's
agreeable, but I want to make sure that she'll take me afore I speir
her. I'm a proud man, Dominie."

"You're a sly one!"

"Am I no!" said Andrew, well pleased. "Well, could you put the letter in
that wy?"

"I wouldna," replied Mr. Cathro, "though I could, and I couldna though I
would. It would defy the face of clay to do it, you canny lover."

Now, the Dominie had frequently declined to write as he was bidden, and
had suggested alterations which were invariably accepted, but to his
astonishment Andrew would not give in. "I'll be stepping, then," he
said coolly, "for if you hinna the knack o't I ken somebody that has."

"Who?" demanded the irate Dominie.

"I promised no to tell you," replied Andrew, and away he went. Mr.
Cathro expected hi