ly,
patiently, indulging all Sam's slowness of penmanship--

"'DEAR Mr. 'UCKS,--This comes 'opin' to find you well as it leaves us
all at present. I promised to write in my own 'and; but time is
pressin', as I am goin' to tell you. So you must please put up with Mr.
Bossom, and excuse mistakes. I will sign this to let you know there is
no fake. We are at Stratford-on-Avon: w'ich for slow goin' must be a
record: but all well and 'earty. Mr. M. 'as 'ad luck with 'is actin'--'
'Ow much?"

"Six-seven-nine," answered Sam as he caught up with her.

"Clear?"

Sam nodded. "Barrin', o' course, the bill for to-night's board an'
lodgin'."

"'--Up to date 'e 'as paid S. Bossom over six pound, and 'as picked up
with an engagement 'ere. Dear sir, you will see there's no risk, and
S. Bossom will stay 'ere a week an' collect the balance.'"

"The Lord forbid!" Sam protested, laying down his pen.

"I'd like to know oo's writin' this letter--you or me?" She pointed to
the paper. "Go on, please. 'Dear sir, a party as we will call W. B.
'as joined the company. W'ich is strange to say--'"

"Who's _he?_"

Sam looked up again, but Tilda's finger still pointed firmly.

"'W'ich 'e too continues 'earty; but You-know-Oo is close after 'im;
and so, dear sir, 'avin' 'eard of an Island called 'Olmness, we are off
there to-morrow, and will let you know further. W'ich I remain yours
respectfully--' Now 'and over the pen an' let me sign."

"'Olmness? Where's 'Olmness?"

She took the pen from him and slowly printed TILDA, in roman capitals;
examined the signature, made sure it was satisfactory, and at length
answered--

"It's a Island, somewhere in the Bristol Channel, w'ich is in the Free
Library. We've just come from there."

"An' you reckon I got nothin' better to do than go gallivantin' with
you, lookin' for islands in the Bristol Channel?"

"--W'en I said, on'y a minute back," she answered with composure, "that
we were leavin' you in Stratford for a week."

"Ho!" he commented scornfully. "Leavin' me, are you? _You_ leavin'
_me?_ . . . Well, if that ain't good, I declare!"

She looked at him as one disdaining argument.

"I'll tell you all about it termorrow. Let's 'ave in supper now; for
we're 'ungry, Arthur Miles an' me, an' the Fat Lady'll be expectin' us.
Between two an' three miles down the river there's a lock, near a place
they call Weston--you know it, I reckon? Well, meet us there
termorrow--say eig