“That’s a very nice gentlemanly letter, Marjorie,” said Mrs. Carruthers, returning it.

“I like yours better, Aunty; it is not so stiff.”

“Nonsense, you silly girl.  I am only ‘dear’ and you are ‘my dear.’  He thinks of me as a mother, and of you as the chief person in the world.  I think you are getting vain and greedy, Marjorie.  Well, I must put these bonbons away, or the children will see them, and will be making themselves too ill to go to church.  Where is cousin Marjorie?”

“Oh, she is off with her box.  Very likely she is giving some to uncle and grandpa.  It’s a great pity the Captain is not here; he has a sweet tooth.  Do you know Tryphena has a letter from Sylvanus?”

“That accounts for her delay with the dishes.  What other letters did you get?”

“None; only a lot of books, magazines, and illustrated papers from Mr. Coristine for the family.”

“For the family, Marjorie?”

“Yes; did you not read the postscript?”

“To be sure I did; but you know better than to take that literally,—­Marjorie, I think you’re deep, deep.”

“Do you think he will come here next month?”

“I am going to command my niece, Marjorie Carmichael, or to ask Marjorie’s mother, to answer his letter for me, and to insist upon his coming back as soon as possible.”

The aunt and niece had a kissing match, after which the latter said:  “Thank you, aunt Honoria,” and went out of the room, ready for the congratulations of the Bridesdale world.

Meanwhile Miss Du Plessis, having laid the dominie’s wealth of postal matter before his eyes, at his request read the solitary letter.

My Dear Wilks,—­I hope that, under your excellent corps of nurses and guardian angels, you are gradually recovering from your Falstaffian encounter with Ancient Pistol.  Don’t let Miss Du Plessis see this or she’ll faint.  I had a toughish ride to Collingwood, and part of the way back, the latter at the suggestion of Hickey Bangs.  If I were as plucky for my size as that little fellow is, I could face a regiment.  He got the prisoner safely caged, which is the proper thing to say about gaol birds.  I came down with him and his select party this morning, meeting Captain and Mrs. Thomas and The Crew on the way.  They wanted me to go on a cruise.  The kindness of the whole Carruthers family is like the widow’s curse; it’s inexhaustible.  Having been badly sold, however, over a Lamb, and cheap, too, I was not eligible for more sail.  I write this, Wilks, more in sorrow than in anger, but I do hanker after those jolly Bridesdale days.  Mrs. Marsh received me cordially, but not in character; she was the reverse of martial.—­

“Really, Farquhar, this is very terrible,” said Miss Du Plessis, laughing; “I hardly know whether to go on.  Who knows what dreadful things may be before us?”

“The taste, Cecile, is shocking; otherwise any child might read his letters.”