ame, of her abode, and of the sum
of money she was to bring her husband. It was even noised abroad that
the schoolmaster had represented his age as a good ten years less than
it was. Then the schoolmaster divulged everything. To his
mortification, he was not quite believed. All the proof he could bring
forward to support his story was this: that time would show whether he
got married or not. Foolish man! this argument was met by another,
which was accepted at once. The lady had jilted the schoolmaster.
Whether this explanation came from the post-office, who shall say? But
so long as he lived the schoolmaster was twitted about the lady who
threw him over. He took his revenge in two ways. He wrote and posted
letters exceedingly abusive of the postmistress. The matter might be
libellous; but then, as he pointed out, she would incriminate herself
if she "brought him up" about it. Probably Lizzie felt his other
insult more. By publishing his suspicions of her on every possible
occasion he got a few people to seal their letters. So bitter was his
feeling against her that he was even willing to supply the wax.

They know all about post-offices in Thrums now, and even jeer at the
telegraph-boy's uniform. In the old days they gathered round him when
he was seen in the street, and escorted him to his destination in
triumph. That, too, was after Lizzie had gone the way of all the
earth. But perhaps they are not even yet as knowing as they think
themselves. I was told the other day that one of them took out a
postal order, meaning to send the money to a relative, and kept the
order as a receipt.

I have said that the town is sometimes full of snow. One frosty
Saturday, seven years ago, I trudged into it from the schoolhouse, and
on the Monday morning we could not see Thrums anywhere.

I was in one of the proud two-storied houses in the place, and could
have shaken hands with my friends without from the upper windows. To
get out of doors you had to walk upstairs. The outlook was a sea of
snow fading into white hills and sky with the quarry standing out red
and ragged to the right like a rock in the ocean. The Auld Licht manse
was gone, but had left its garden-trees behind, their lean branches
soft with snow. Roofs were humps in the white blanket. The spire of
the Established Kirk stood up cold and stiff, like a monument to the
buried inhabitants.

Those of the natives who had taken the precaution of convey