This was rather a stretch of imagination on the part of the worthy old soul, but she was so excited that she could not help a little exaggeration, which was quite harmless she thought, and made the story so much more interesting.
However, there was Como true enough when they reached the kitchen, and glad was he to see Margaret when she came in. He had taken a drink of water from one of the tins in the kitchen, and then had stretched himself at full length in his old place beneath the table under the window. He sprang up when he saw Margaret, and rushed to her, and the girl, with tears in her eyes, knelt down on the floor and fondled the dog. They made a very pretty picture, Mrs. Beffling thought, as she stood with her bare red arms akimbo, and her head on one side looking at them.
"Poor old Como, how hot and tired you are. Have you come from Alec?" said the poor girl, with tears in her voice. "Oh! Alec, Alec, where are you? If you could only tell us, Como, if he be alive and where he is. We are in such trouble, doggie." She laid her arms round Como's neck and wiped away upon his smooth forehead a great tear from her cheek. The dog tried to lick her face, forgetting for a moment, it is to be feared, the letter round his neck, in his chivalrous efforts to comfort beauty in distress. Poor Geordie was quite right, Como had the feelings of a true gentleman.
Suddenly Margaret felt the folded bit of paper that was tied under Como's neck. In a voice that rang with excitement, she cried out—
"Give me a knife! quick, quick!"
"Lawks! miss, what for?" said Mrs. Beffling, starting. "You isn't going to kill the dog, sureli!"
"Don't be a donkey," said Margaret, holding out her hand, and forgetting all her boarding-school manners in her excitement.
"No, miss, for sure," replied the cook, snatching a knife from the table and handing it to her.
"Stand still," said Margaret, trembling with eagerness, as she slipped her forefinger under the string and raised it from the dog's neck. She sawed the string through, and, with fingers that shook so from nervousness that she could hardly untie the knots, she at last opened the letter and spread it out. She did not rise, but kneeling where she was on the floor, with the light from the kitchen window pouring on to her flushed cheek, she read the letter:—
"Dearest Mother,—