'Oh, Ted,' put in Toddie the virtuous, 'you are a wicked, bad boy to-day! I wonder Carr has any patience wiv 'oo.'
'I shall be very much disappointed if I cannot go to Carm Hall.'
Ted meditated for a minute, then he laughed delightedly,—
'Then I'll save all the pwanks up!' he announced. 'I promise dweffully solemnly that I'll be won'erful good all the times you'se away, Carr lovey!'
When Catherine, having completed her conquest over Ted's mischievous longings, ran downstairs to breakfast, she found a letter awaiting her. It proved to be from her Melbourne cousin George, to whom she had written so long ago asking him for news of the last hours of poor Loring Carmichael.
Robert was shovelling away at the fire, and Harriet was laying the meal, so after a few words to them Catherine slipped away into the garden to read the long letter in peace.
She was not in the least cold, though the January air was fresh, as she paced round and round the narrow gravel walk which surrounded the small lawn.
Her cheeks were glowing with a healthy colour, and her brown hair, having just been rumpled by that naughty Ted, was blown in bewitching locks and curls about her brow.
There was a happy smile of pleased expectation on her lips as she began to read, but it faded away and was replaced by a look of anxiety and grief long before she had finished the letter.
After a few unimportant sentences George Carmichael wrote:—