go-by and returned to
Peter. As for Peter, who had been getting over his trouble, he saw now
for the first time what he had lost, and he carried Betsy's dear letter
in his oxter pocket and was inconsolable.

But the masterpiece went to Mrs. Dinnie, baker, in return for a flagon
bun. Long ago her daughter, Janet, and Betsy had agreed to marry on the
same day, and many a quip had Mrs. Dinnie cast at their romantic
compact. But Janet died, and so it was a sad letter that Tommy had to
write to her mother. "I'm doubting you're no auld enough for this ane,"
soft-hearted Betsy said, but she did not know her man. "Tell me some one
thing the mother used often to say when she was taking her fun off the
pair of you," he said, and "Where is she buried?" was a suggestive
question, with the happy tag, "Is there a tree hanging over the grave?"
Thus assisted, he composed a letter that had a tear in every sentence.
Betsy rubbed her eyes red over it, and not all its sentiments were
allowed to die, for Mrs. Dinnie, touched to the heart, printed the best
of them in black licorice on short bread for funeral feasts, at which
they gave rise to solemn reflections as they went down.

Nevertheless, this letter affected none so much as the writer of it. His
first rough sketch became so damp as he wrote that he had to abandon his
pen and take to pencil; while he was revising he had often to desist to
dry his eyes on the coverlet of Aaron's bed, which made Elspeth weep
also, though she had no notion what he was at. But when the work was
finished he took her into the secret and read his letter to her, and he
almost choked as he did so. Yet he smiled rapturously through his woe,
and she knew no better than to be proud of him, and he woke next morning
with a cold, brought on you can see how, but his triumph was worth its
price.

Having read the letter in an uncanny silence, Mr. Cathro unbottled Tommy
for the details, and out they came with a rush, blowing away the cork
discretion. Yet was the Dominie slow to strike; he seemed to find more
satisfaction in surveying his young friend with a wondering gaze that
had a dash of admiration in it, which Tommy was the first to note.

"I don't mind admitting before the whole school," said Mr. Cathro,
slowly, "that if these letters had been addressed to me they would have
taken me in."

Tommy tried to look modest, but his chest would have its way.

"You little sacket," cried the Dominie, "how did you manage