ommy was able presently to speak up for his
misdeeds. They consisted of some letters written at home but brought to
the school for private reading, and the Dominie got a nasty jar when he
saw that they were all signed "Betsy Grieve." Miss Betsy Grieve, servant
to Mr. Duthie, was about to marry, and these letters were
acknowledgments of wedding presents. Now, Mr. Cathro had written similar
letters for Betsy only a few days before.

"Did she ask you to write these for her?" he demanded, fuming, and Tommy
replied demurely that she had. He could not help adding, though he felt
the unwisdom of it, "She got some other body to do them first, but his
letters didna satisfy her."

"Oh!" said Mr. Cathro, and it was such a vicious oh that Tommy squeaked
tremblingly, "I dinna know who he was."

Keeping his mouth shut by gripping his underlip with his teeth, the
Dominie read the letters, and Tommy gazed eagerly at him, all fear
forgotten, soul conquering body. The others stood or sat waiting,
perplexed as to the cause, confident of the issue. The letters were much
finer productions than Cathro's, he had to admit it to himself as he
read. Yet the rivals had started fair, for Betsy was a recent immigrant
from Dunkeld way, and the letters were to people known neither to Tommy
nor to the Dominie. Also, she had given the same details for the
guidance of each. A lady had sent a teapot, which affected to be new,
but was not; Betsy recognized it by a scratch on the lid, and wanted to
scratch back, but politely. So Tommy wrote, "When you come to see me we
shall have a cup of tea out of your beautiful present, and it will be
like a meeting of three old friends." That was perhaps too polite, Betsy
feared, but Tommy said authoritatively, "No, the politer the nippier."

There was a set of six cups and saucers from Peter something, who had
loved Betsy in vain. She had shown the Dominie and Tommy the ear-rings
given her long ago by Peter (they were bought with 'Sosh checks) and the
poem he had written about them, and she was most anxious to gratify him
in her reply. All Cathro could do, however, was to wish Peter well in
some ornate sentences, while Tommy's was a letter that only a tender
woman's heart could have indited, with such beautiful touches about the
days which are no more alas forever, that Betsy listened to it with
heaving breast and felt so sorry for her old swain that, forgetting she
had never loved him, she all but gave Andrew the