of the 15th instant? If it did," he went on,
"Commander Sandys will learn something to his advantage from a bottle
that is to be cast into the ocean this evening."

Gavinia thought she heard the chink of another five shillings, and her
mouth opened so wide that a chaffinch could have built therein. "Is he
to look for a bottle in the pond?" she asked, eagerly.

"I do," replied McLean with such solemnity that she again retired to the
coal-cellar.

That evening Mr. McLean cast a bottle into the Silent Pool, and
subsequently called on Mr. Cathro, to whom he introduced himself as one
interested in Master Thomas Sandys. He was heartily received, but at the
name of Tommy, Cathro heaved a sigh that could not pass unnoticed. "I
see you don't find him an angel," said Mr. McLean, politely.

"'Deed, sir, there are times when I wish he was an angel," the dominie
replied so viciously that McLean laughed. "And I grudge you that laugh,"
continued Cathro, "for your Tommy Sandys has taken from me the most
precious possession a teacher can have--my sense of humor."

"He strikes me as having a considerable sense of humor himself."

"Well he may, Mr. McLean, for he has gone off with all mine. But bide a
wee till I get in the tumblers, and. I'll tell you the latest about
him--if what you want to hear is just the plain exasperating truth.

"His humor that you spoke of," resumed the school-master presently,
addressing his words to the visitor, and his mind to a toddy ladle of
horn, "is ill to endure in a school where the understanding is that the
dominie makes all the jokes (except on examination-day, when the
ministers get their yearly fling), but I think I like your young friend
worst when he is deadly serious. He is constantly playing some new
part--playing is hardly the word though, for into each part he puts an
earnestness that cheats even himself, until he takes to another. I
suppose you want me to give you some idea of his character, and I could
tell you what it is at any particular moment; but it changes, sir, I do
assure you, almost as quickly as the circus-rider flings off his layers
of waistcoats. A single puff of wind blows him from one character to
another, and he may be noble and vicious, and a tyrant and a slave, and
hard as granite and melting as butter in the sun, all in one forenoon.
All you can be sure of is that whatever he is he will be it in excess."

"But I understood," said McLean, "that at present he is solely