The squire pondered the answer, until he chuckled over it. The chuckle ended with a sigh, though.

Rising from the table, he drew a letter from his pocket and said shortly:

'Wrongly addressed; send Newton at once with it. And, James, after all you may light the fire here, and another in the drawing-room, for I expect Miss Catherine to see me this morning.'

James gave a start of surprise. Before he had recovered from his amazement sufficiently to reply, the squire had left the room, and was shut up in the library.

'"Miss Catherine" coming to Carm Hall! Why, "Miss Catherine" must be quite grown up by this time!'

Then James read the address on the letter in his hand:

'Colonel J. Carmichael,

Carm Hall,

Beverbridge.'

'Poor Mr. Jack! She reckoned he would be still here, in the old home!' sighed the man to himself, as he hurried away to send Newton at once with the missive. 'Strange, too, as the postman didn't know better than to deliver his letter here; but no doubt he only looked at the address, that's plain enough,—and where he ought to be too!'

The elder Mr. Carmichael was not studying in the library. His account-books lay untouched on his secretary-table; his morning papers were not cut yet; the huge volumes of reference stood upright on the shelves. He was sitting in his 'office-chair' before the desk, and there was a lot of business correspondence awaiting his attention; but he was only reading and re-reading the letter from his niece Catherine.

'Woodley Cottage,

'Beverbridge.

'My dear Uncle Ross,—

'I am coming to see you to-morrow morning—a few hours after you will receive this! Since I wrote to you, last Christmas, my worldly circumstances have undergone such a tremendous change that I am obliged to earn my own living; for which fact many kind-hearted, well-meaning folk have pitied me. I wonder why they think me so unfortunate? At the homestead I worked fifty times harder than my duties as Mrs. Arderne's companion oblige me to do now; and, after all, work is happiness, when God sanctions it. You shall hear no grumbles from me, I promise you! My stepfather is not dead, only bankrupt, and the station has passed into other hands. Mother's money, the little fortune she left me, has vanished, and Alice is married. Mrs. Arderne offered me a home just when I found myself without one. The dear kind soul has no real need of a "companion," so I tell her often; yet, as she does not wish me to leave her, I feel justified in remaining under her roof. This is a hired roof, by-the-bye, uncle—a furnished villa, taken for six months, because she has friends in the neighbourhood. Is it not a splendid opportunity for me to see you both again? It is ten years since we last met, when I rode with you as far as the boundary-rider's hut on the Curra Paddock. We said good-bye at Wattle Creek, do you recollect? Uncle Jack, seeing that I was nearly crying, tried to cheer me by inviting me to Beverbridge for next Christmas; but I went home in tears, because I knew I shouldn't be allowed to go to England all by myself. Yet here I am—ten years later! I'm grown up now, though; not "little Catherine" any longer!

'My pen has been running on, while I ought to have reserved all my news to tell you to-morrow, when I see you again; and I have not been able to resist writing to Uncle Jack as well as to you.

'Good-bye again, dear uncle, for a very short time now.

'Your affectionate niece,

'Catherine Carmichael.'

'Ha!—couldn't resist writing to "Uncle Jack" as well!'