"I heard first five distinct knocks then after a pause—one."
It was the letter E! But, then, only Joe and I knew of it! My heart sank. I thought in swift, lightning flashes. Had my son been captured also? But the person at the other side of the wall went on spelling, one knock, pause, three knocks.
It was the letter L!
And so with the quiet regularity of an expert, the sentence came back to me.
"Elsie here—Who are you?"
I felt much inclined, of course, to ask who Elsie might be, but I made my answer—fearing a trap—by the mere spelling out of my name and address, "Joseph Yarrow, Breckonside."
Then there was tapped out hurried, imperfectly, in a manner denoting undue and even foolish emotion—"Dearest Joe. I thank you for trying to help me. Your Elsie."
There was evidently some mistake. No one had a right to answer me thus—least of all an Elsie—my wife's name being Mary, and she as little likely to address me as "Dearest Joe," as to call me the Grand Mogul! In fact, it was nothing less than a prodigious liberty—whoever Elsie might be.
But a thought flashed across my mind. The young dog! At it already! If I had my hand on his collar, I would teach him to be anybody's "Dearest Joe!" "Dearest Joe" indeed! I would "Dearest Joe" him!
But after all the situation had made me smile, and I knew that there was but one Elsie in Breckonside—Elsie Stennis—and as good a girl as ever stepped! Too good for Joe, if only she had her rights—what with the old rascal's property, not that I minded much about that—and a temper which would make Master Joe toe the line. He had need of that—I never!