"Well?" Mrs. Dew demanded impatiently. "Who's been writing to you?"
"It's from Master Montagu," Jane-Anne cried breathlessly. "He's written to me, to ask me to see that Mr. Wycherly eats his meals—oh aunt you will let me wait on him now, won't you?"
"What's he say?" asked Mrs. Dew.
"My dear Jane-Anne," she read aloud, "I'm glad to hear from Guardie you're all right again. It would be decent of you if you'd write to me sometimes and tell me how he is, for he never says himself. And there's another thing: I wish you'd go in and out sometimes at meals and see that he isn't reading and forgetting to eat at all. That's what he does if he isn't watched, Robina told me. Just go in and joggle his elbow and remind him, if he's got a book, especially if it's 'Aeschylus'; he's very fond of that and forgets the chops and potatoes and everything. And please make him go out every day; you might take him. You see he used always to take Mause, our dog, for a walk, but she's dead, poor thing.
"You've not got much to do, with no school, so just look after Guardie like a good kid. I shall be awfully obliged, and please write.
"Yours truly,
"MONTAGU BETHUNE WYCHERLY."
"There," said Jane-Anne.
"I'll not say but what it's quite a good idea," Mrs. Dew admitted, "though you can't go jogglin' the master's elbow or any impudence of that sort. Still, you might wait on him, and if he gets reading, just go quiet and say 'potatoes, sir,' or 'peas, sir,' and it'll bring 'im back. It goes to my very heart when he forgets and leaves a homelette till it's all flat and tough, an' it'd come easier like from you—you can stop in the room at lunch and dinner, and stand be'ind him at the sideboard. And mind you don't get woolgathering too, as is but likely."
"Can I have a cap and apron, like Mrs. Methuen's parlour-maid?" Jane Anne asked eagerly, desirous to dress to the part.