He read:—
Dear Brother 'Enery,—This comes opin' to find you well as it leaves me at Stratford. M. sends her love, an' you will be pleased to 'ear she grows beautifuller every day an' in character likewise. It do seem to me this world is a better place for containin' of her; an' a man ought to be 'appy, dear 'Enery, when you can call 'er mine—"
"That don't seem right to me some'ow," commented Tilda.
Sam scratched his head.
"What's wrong with it?"
"'Pears to me it ought to be 'yours'—'When you can call her yours.'"
"I don't like that neither, not altogether. S'pose we scratch it out an' say, 'A man ought to be 'appy when 'e can call 'er 'isn'? That what schoolmaster calls the third person."
"There didn' ought to be no third person about it," said Tilda severely; "on'y 'Enery an' 'er. Well, go on."
"I can't. That's so far as I've written up to the present. It's a rough copy, you understand; an' at Stratford I allow to write it out fair an' post it."
Tilda took a turn at considering.