you give me the letter, child? Who is it from?"

"Teacher, plee, sir."

A flush came into the vicar's pale cheeks, and he raised his drooping
lids as he impatiently held out his hand and waited while Ann Straggalls
struggled to produce the letter. She had had some difficulty in placing
it in what she considered to be a safe receptacle, forcing it down below
the string that ran round the top of her frock. That struggle, however,
was nothing to the one which now took place to release the missive, for
the note had crept down to somewhere about Ann Straggalls' waist where
it was lying so comfortable and warm that it refused to be dislodged, in
spite of the pushing of one hand, and the thrustings down of the other.
The young lady posed herself in a variety of attitudes, reaching up,
bending down, leaning first on one side, then upon the other, but all in
vain. She grew red in the face, her hands were hot, and the vicar
became more and more impatient; but the letter was not forthcoming, and
at last she exclaimed, with a doleful expression of countenance--

"Plee, sir, I can't get it out."

"You've lost it," cried the vicar angrily.

"No, sir, I ain't, plee, sir. I can feel it quite plain, but it's
slithered down to my waist."

"You tiresome girl!" cried the vicar impatiently, for it was an awkward
dilemma, and he was beginning to think of the penknife in his vest
pocket, and the possibility of cutting the note free without injury to
the young lady's skin, when she solved the difficulty herself by running
off to where she saw a little girl standing, and the result of the
companion's efforts was so successful that Ann Straggalls came running
back beaming with pleasure, the letter in her hand.

"Good girl!" exclaimed the vicar, thrusting a sixpence into her palm, as
he eagerly snatched the letter, devoured the address with his eyes, and
the flush died out of his cheeks.

"Why, the letter is for Mr Burge," he said excitedly.

"Yes, sir; for Mr William Forth Burge, plee, sir."

"Take it," exclaimed the vicar huskily, and thrusting the note hastily
into the girl's hands, he turned sharply round and walked back into the
house, thoroughly unnerved by the incident, trifling as it may seem.

"He's give me sixpence!" said Ann Straggalls wonderingly; and
then--"Didn't he seem cross!"

At last, after these interruptions, which duly published the fact that
Hazel Thorne openly wrote to Mr William Forth Burge, the note came