ayont the sea an' sair grat we for a' frien's
we knew lang syne in oor ain countree.

Late at nicht, Fanny, the bonny gypsy, cam' ben the hoose an' tirled
at the pin of oor bigly bower door, speirin' for baps and bannocks.

"Hoots, lassie!" cried oot Sally, "th' auld carline i' the kitchen is
i' her box-bed an' weel aneuch ye ken is lang syne cuddled doon."

"Oo, ay!" said Fanny, straikin' her curly pow, "then fetch me parritch
an' dinna be lang wi' 'em, for I've lickit a Pettybaw lass at the
gowff, an' I could eat twa guid jints o' beef gin I had 'em!"

"Losh, girl," said I, "gie ower makin' sic a mickle din. Ye ken verra
weel ye'll get nae parritch the nicht. I'll rin an' fetch ye a 'piece'
to stap awee the soun'."

"Blathers an' havers!" cried Fanny, but she blinkit bonnily the while,
an' when the tea was weel maskit, she smoored her wrath an' stappit
her mooth wi' a bit o' oaten cake. We aye keep that i' the hoose, for
th' auld servant-body is gey an' bad at the cookin' an' she's sae dour
an' dowie that to speak but till her we daur hardly mint.

In sic divairsions pass the lang simmer days in braid Scotland, but I
canna write mair the nicht, for 'tis the wee sma' hours ayont the
twal'.

Like th' auld wife's parrot, "we dinna speak muckle, but we're deevils
to think," an' we're aye thinkin' aboot ye. An' noo I maun leave ye to
mak' what ye can oot o' this, for I jalouse it'll pass ye to untaukle
the whole hypothec.

Fair fa' ye a'! Lang may yer lum reek, an' may prosperity attend oor
clan!

Aye your gude frien',
PENELOPE HAMILTON.

"It may be very fine," remarked Salemina judicially, "though I cannot
understand more than half of it."

"That would also be true of Browning," I replied. "Don't you love to
see great ideas loom through a mist of words?"

"The words are misty enough in this case," she said, "and I do wish
you would not tell the world that I paddle in the burn, or 'twine my
bree wi' tasseled broom.' I'm too old to be made ridiculous."

"Nobody will believe it," said Francesca appearing in the doorway.
"They will know it is only Penelope's havering," and with this
undeserved scoff, she took her mashie and went golfing; not on the
links, on this occasion, but in our microscopic sitting-room. It is
twelve feet square, and holds a tiny piano, desk, centre-table, sofa,
and chairs, but the spot between the