fame reached her for the first time as they drove past the
little church at Chorlton on their way to Strides Cottage, Mrs.
Marrable's residence. Sister Nora was suddenly afraid she had "forgotten
Dave's letter after all." But she found it, in her bag; and rejoiced,
for had she not promised to return it to Granny Marrable, to whom--not
to herself--it was addressed, after Dave's return last year to his
parents. Lady Gwendolen was, or professed to be, greatly interested;
reading the epistle carefully to herself while her cousin and Granny
Marrable talked over its writer. But she was fain to ask for an
occasional explanation of some obscurity in the text.

It was manifestly a dictated letter, written in a shaky hand as of an
old person, but not an uneducated one by any means; the misspellings
being really intelligent renderings of the pronunciation of the
dictator. As, for instance, the opening:--"Dear Granny Marrowbone,"
which caused the reader to remark:--"I suppose that doesn't mean that
the writer thinks you spell your name that way, Mrs. Marrable, only that
the child _says_ Marrowbone." The owner of the name assented,
saying:--"That would be so, my lady, yes." And her ladyship proceeded:
"I like you. I like Widow Thrale. I like Master Marmaduke!"--This was
the other small convalescent, he who had an unnatural passion for Dave's
crutch, likened to Ariadne--"I like Sister Nora. I like the Lady. I like
Farmer Jones, but not much. I am going to scrool on Monday, and shall
know how to read and write with a peng my own self." "Quite a
love-letter," said Gwen, after explanations of the persons referred
to--as that "the lady" was the mother of her own personal ladyship; that
is, the Countess herself. Gwen continued, identifying one of the
characters:--"But that was hypocrisy about Farmer Jones. He didn't like
Farmer Jones at all. I don't.... That's not all. What's this?" She went
on, reading aloud:--"'Writited for me by Mrs. Picture upstairs on her
decks with hink.' I see he has signed it himself, rather large. I wonder
who is Mrs. Picture, who writes for him."

"We heard a great deal about Mrs. Picture, my lady." Sister Nora thought
her name might be Mrs. Pitcher, though odd. "I could hardly say myself,"
said Granny Marrable diffidently.

Gwen speculated. "Pilcher, or Pilchard, perhaps! It couldn't be Picture.
What did he tell you about her?"

"Oh dear--a many things! Mrs. Picture had been out to sea, in a ship.
But she w