"Guess again, little one," answered a voice that made her knees sink under her. "We've got you with the goods this time. Eh, Jenny Regan?"
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE FIVE-BAR GATE
"It may interest you young people to know," the bishop was saying in the library, "that Annie Laurie—you know she was the daughter of Sir Robert Laurie of Maxwellton, and—er—she married an ancestor of mine."
"Really! Tell us about her," exclaimed Betty, leaning forward eagerly.
"I'm afraid there isn't much to tell except that she did not marry the poor young man—what was his name?—who wrote those tender verses about her?"
"She didn't?" frowned Bob, while Miss Thompson watched him with a roguish smile.
"No. She married my ancestor. I have always had the deepest sympathy for that unappreciated poet."
Young Baxter nodded wisely.
"Perhaps he'd have been more appreciated if he hadn't been so much of a poet. While he was making rhymes to Annie your ancestor got busy with the girl, and the first thing Mr. Poet knew the other fellow had landed her."