atement: "Dicktated to Dick and excuse looks and mesteaks.
Hese a poor tool at writtin."

Crouching on her bed of boughs, the sheet on her knees, her hands
clutched into her wind-rumpled hair above her temples, she read the
letter which her grandfather had contrived with the help of his drafted
amanuensis.

To my Grand-daughter. He have to use short words and few. Dick
is slow and can't spel.

Lida's thoughts were running parallel with her reading, and she
remembered that, in those letters of hideous arraignment which she had
found in her mother's effects, Echford Flagg's own spelling was
fantastically original. But under the layers of ugly malediction she had
found pathos: he said that he'd had no schooling of his own, and on that
account had been led to turn his business over to the better but
dishonest ability of Alfred Kennard.

Reading on, she could picture the scene--the two old men toiling with
pathetic earnestness over the task of preparing that letter; here and
there, the words only partially deleted by lines run across them, were
evidences that in his flustration under the master's vitriolic
complaints, old Dick had confused comment with dictated matter--and had
included comment in his unthinking haste to get everything down. Three
times a "Dam your pelt" had been written and crossed out.

He tell you I knew you when I gave you my old cant dog.

Lida gasped when she read the blunt declaration. She might have guessed
that Echford Flagg would have repulsed a stranger; he had disguised his
true sentiments under the excuse of an old man's whim!

I let you go. It was making a squair deal between you and me.
Nicola sent me a man to tell me how you had gorn north with his
men and so I took Dick back after I had fired him.

It was at this point that a particularly prominent "Dam your pelt" was
interjected.

The old fool would have blabbed to me what you told him to keep
quiet about. He aint fit to be trusted with any secrits. But he
was scard to tell me you was Lida. I told him. But the Comas
helyun has gorn past here with men and guns. Let him have the
logs. I want you, my granddaughter. Come home.

Tears flooded her eyes. "Come home!" Old Dick had printed those words in
bold letters.

This is in haist but he has been 2 hours writtin it and so
I send Jeff to bring you. Dont wait. Kepe away from danjur.
Come home.

And old Dick, the toiling scribe