“Good night, Cecile, my darling, my guardian angel, as Corry rightly says.”

Miss Tryphena Hill was reading Sylvanus’ letter in the kitchen, first to herself.  It ran as follows:—­

                                     A Board THE SUSAN THOMAS
          
                                              Friday noon.

My ever of thee I’m fondly dreaming, Tryphena,—­U sed my spelins was caple of beterment so I got the tittle out of a song buk in the cars and wrot it down in the end lefe of the litel testymint you giv me wile the capen and the nusboy was int lukin on.  How duz it tak yor i.  The capen he brung Mrs. T long for a sale.  I see Mr. Corstoene in the cars lukin poekit lik wat is the mater of him.  He wooden cum long on the skuner.  Giv my luv to Tryphosa and Timotheus i can get there names all rite out of the testymint NEW TESTAMENT Now my ever of thee Tryphena I am orf wunc more on the oshin waive and the hevin depe and If i never more cum bak but the blew waives role over yor Silvanus, the TESTAMENT dont spel it with a why, i left my wil at farthys in the yaler spelin buk on the sheluff nere the side windy levin all my property to my saley Tryphena.  I wud of kist u of i had dard beefor I leff wen I am more prospuz i wil dar of I get slaped for it The capen has fyred the blungeybush and i must go ashore with the dingy and get the tavun boy to get ma a nenblope out of the orfis

Yore onley luving afekshunit saler boy
SYLVANUS PILGRIM.

Just as Tryphena had finished this touching epistle, a knock came to the kitchen door.  She opened it, and Mr. Perrowne appeared.  “Is Timotheus here?” he asked.  Timotheus himself answered, “Yaas sir!” when the parson said, “Would you mind bringing a spaide to help me to bury my poor dawg?” The willing Pilgrim rose, and went in quest of the implement, while Mr. Perrowne walked round to the verandah, under which lay the inanimate form of his long lost canine friend, over which he mourned sincerely.  The Squire and Miss Halbert came out to assist at the obsequies, and were soon joined by Miss Carmichael and Mr. Terry, all of whom regretted the loss of poor Muggins, the children’s friend.

“Do you think you will ever see your dog again, Basil?” asked the doctor’s daughter.

“I down’t know,” replied the parson.  “He was part of the creation that St. Paul says is growning and waiting for the redemption of the body from pain and disease and death.  It used to be said that man ownly is naturally and necessarily immortal, but that is rubbish, built up on a pantheistic idea of Platow.  If God continues the life of man beyond this world, I see no reason why He should not continue that of a dawg which has shared man’s fight here below.  There are some such good dawgs, don’t you know, moral, kind, faithful dawgs!”

“Is it not the poor Indian who thinks his faithful dog shall bear him company in another world?” asked Miss Carmichael.