"Oh, my dear young missies! but hate is a weed--a noxious weed that ought to be pulled up out o' the ground o' your hearts." "It is taking deep root in mine," said Sylvia. "And in mine," said Hester. "But please let us tell you the rest, Mrs. Miles. Sir John Crawford had a letter from our dear aunt, who left the packet for Betty; and we cannot understand it, but she seemed to wish Sir John Crawford to take care of the packet for the present. He looked for it everywhere, and could not find it. Was he likely to when Betty had taken it? Then he asked Betty quite suddenly if she knew anything about it, and Betty stood up and said 'No.' She told a huge, monstrous lie, and she didn't even change color, and he believed her. So we came here. Well, Betty was terribly anxious for fear the packet should be found, and one night we helped her to climb down from the balcony out of our bedroom. No one saw her go, and no one saw her return, and she put the packet away somewhere--we don't know where. Well, after that, wonderful things happened, and Betty was made a tremendous fuss of in the school. There was no one like her, and she was loved like anything, and we were as proud as Punch of her. But all of a sudden everything changed, and our Betty was disgraced. There were horrid things written on a blackboard about her. She was quite innocent, poor darling! But the things were written, and Betty is the sort of girl to feel such disgrace frightfully. We were quite preparing to run away with her, for we thought she wouldn't care to stay much longer in the school--notwithstanding your opinion of it, Mrs. Miles. But all of a sudden Betty seemed to go right down, as though some one had felled her with an awful blow. She kept crying out, and crying out, that the packet was lost. Anyhow, she thinks it is lost; she hasn't an idea where it can be. And the doctors say that Betty's brain is in such a curious state that unless the packet is found she--she may die. "So we went to her, both of us, and we told her we would go and find it," continued Sylvia. "We have got to find it. That is what we have come about. We don't suppose for a minute that it was right of Betty to tell the lie; but that was the only thing she did wrong. Anyhow, we don't care whether she did right or wrong; she is our Betty, the most splendid, the very dearest girl in all the world, and she sha'n't die. We thought perhaps you would help us to find the packet." "Well," said Mrs. Miles, "that's a wonderful story, and it's a queer sort o' job to put upon a very busy farmer's wife. _Me_ to find the packet?" "Yes; you or your husband, whichever of you can or will do it. It is Betty's life that depends upon it. Couldn't your dogs help us? In Scotland we have dogs that scent anything. Are yours that sort?"