'No matter,' said Meenie; 'the window is not so bare-looking as it used to be. And I suppose he will let them remain up now.'
'Oh yes, when he was told that you had something to do with them,' was the simple answer.
Meenie went to the wooden mantelpiece, and put the few things there straight, just as she would have done in her own room, blowing the light white peat-dust off them, and arranging them in neater order.
'I wonder, now,' she said, 'he does not get frames for these photographs; they will be spoiled by finger marks and the dust.'
Maggie said shyly—
'That was what he said to me the other day—but not about these—about the one you gave me of yourself. He asked to see it, and I showed him how careful I was in wrapping it up; but he said no—the first packman that came through I was to get a frame if he had one, and glass too; or else that he would send it in to Inverness to be framed. But you know, Meenie, it's not near so nice-looking—or anything, anything like so nice-looking—as you are.'
'Nothing could be that, I am sure,' said Meenie lightly; and she was casting her eyes about the room, to see what further improvements she could suggest.
But Maggie had grown suddenly silent, and was standing at the little writing-table, apparently transfixed with astonishment. It will be remembered that when Ronald, in the morning, heard that the Doctor was at the door of the inn, he had hurriedly hastened away to intercept him; and that, subsequently, in order to save time, he had sent back a lad for his gun and cartridges, while he went on to the farm. Now it was this last arrangement that caused him to overlook the fact that he had left his writing materials—the blotting-pad and everything—lying exposed on the table; a piece of neglect of which he had scarcely ever before been guilty. And as ill-luck would have it, as Maggie was idly wandering round the room, waiting for Meenie to make any further suggestions for the smartening of it, what must she see lying before her, among these papers, but a letter, boldly and conspicuously addressed?
'Well!' she exclaimed, as she took it up. 'Meenie, here is a letter for you! why didna he send it along to you?'
'A letter for me?' Meenie said, with a little surprise. 'No! why should Ronald write a letter to me?—I see him about every day.'