satisfied the Dominie, but Tommy, despite his several attempts, had a vague consciousness that there was something second-rate about them, and he tapped on his brain till it responded.  The letter he despatched to Ireland, but had the wisdom not to read aloud even to Meggy, contained nothing save her own words, “Dear Kaytherine, if you dinna send ten shillings immediately, your puir auld mother will have neither house nor hame.  I’m crying to you for’t, Kaytherine; hearken and you’ll hear my cry across the cauldriff sea.”  It was a call from the heart which transported Katherine to Thrums in a second of time, she seemed to see her mother again, grown frail since last they met—­and so all was well for Meggy.  Tommy did not put all this to himself but he felt it, and after that he could not have written the letter differently.  Happy Tommy!  To be an artist is a great thing, but to be an artist and not know it is the most glorious plight in the world.

Other fickle clients put their correspondence into the boy’s hands, and Cathro found it out but said nothing.  Dignity kept him in check; he did not even let the tawse speak for him.  So well did he dissemble that Tommy could not decide how much he knew, and dreaded his getting hold of some of the letters, yet pined to watch his face while he read them.  This could not last forever.  Mr. Cathro was like a haughty kettle which has choked its spout that none may know it has come a-boil, and we all know what in that event must happen sooner or later to the lid.

The three boys who had college in the tail of their eye had certain privileges not for the herd.  It was taken for granted that when knowledge came their way they needed no overseer to make them stand their ground, and accordingly for great part of the day they had a back bench to themselves, with half a dozen hedges of boys and girls between them and the Dominie.  From his chair Mr. Cathro could not see them, but a foot-board was nailed to it, and when he stood on this, as he had an aggravating trick of doing, softly and swiftly, they were suddenly in view.  A large fire had been burning all day and the atmosphere was soporific.  Mr. Cathro was so sleepy himself that the sight of a nodding head enraged him like a caricature, and he was on the foot-board frequently for the reason that makes bearded men suck peppermints in church.  Against his better judgment he took several peeps at Tommy, whom he had lately suspected of writing his letters in school or at least of gloating over them on that back bench.  To-day he was sure of it.  However absorbing Euclid may be, even the forty-seventh of the first book does not make you chuckle and wag your head; you can bring a substantive in Virgil back to the verb that has lost it without looking as if you would like to exhibit them together in the square.  But Tommy was thus elated until he gave way to grief of the most affecting kind.  Now he looked gloomily before him as if all was over, now he buried his face in his hands, next his eyes were closed as if in prayer.  All this the Dominie stood from him, but when at last he began to blubber—­