, and what puzzles
me most is--' There's another aggrawatin' blot here, Joe, so that I
can't make out what puzzles her. Look here. Can you spell it out?"

Joe tried, but shook his head.

"It's a puzzler to _her_," he said, "an' she's took good care to make it
a puzzler to everybody else, but go on."

"There's nothin' else to go on wi', Joe, for after steerin' past the
blot, she runs foul o' Miss Ruth's dress again, and the only thing worth
mentionin' is a post-script, where she says, `I think there's something
wrong, dear David, and I wish you was here.' That's all."

"Now, that is strange, for my missis writes about the wery same thing,"
said Joe, "only she seems to have gone in for a little more confusion
an' blots than your missis, an' that blessed little babby of ours is
always gittin' in the way, so she can't help runnin' foul of it, but
that same puzzler crops up every now an' then. See, here's what she
writes:--

"`Darlin' Joe,' (a touch more affectionate than yours--eh! skipper?) `if
our dear darlin' babby will let me, I'm a-goin' to write you a letter--
there, I know'd she wouldn't. She's bin and capsized the wash-tub,
though, as you know, she can't walk yet, but she rolls about most awful,
Joe, just what you say the _Evening Star_ does in a gale on the North
Sea. An' she's got most dreadful heels--oh! you've no idear! Whativer
they comes down upon goes--' There's a big blot here," said Joe, with a
puzzled look, "`goes--whativer they comes down upon goes--' No, I can't
make it out."

"`Goes to sticks an' stivers,' p'raps," said the skipper.

"No, my Maggie never uses words like that," said Joe with decision.

"`Goes all to smash,' then," suggested the skipper.

"No, nor it ain't that; my Maggie's too soft-tongued for that."

"Well, you know, things must go somewhere, or somehow, Joe, when such a
pair o' heels comes down on 'em--but steer clear o' the blot and the
babby, an' see what comes next."

"`Well,'" continued Joe, reading on, "`I was goin' to tell you, when
babby made that last smash, ("I _told_ you it was a smash," said David,
softly), that dear Miss Ruth has bin worritin' herself--if babby would
only keep quiet for two minutes--worritin' herself about Mrs Bright in
a way that none of us can understand. She's anxious to make inquiries
about her and her affairs in a secret sort o' way, but the dear young
lady is so honest--there's babby again! Now, I've got her all right.
It was the