The little boy joined his hands, and touching his forehead bowed his body, as he had seen men in India bow when they came before his father to ask for something. "Sahib," he said earnestly, "could you write a letter for one anna?" "Hullo, shrimp!" said the man. "Have you sprung right out of the Shiny into here?" "I know it’s very little monies," Ronnie continued apologetically, "_very_ little monies, but I do want that letter wrote, so badly. I’ve truly got one anna; here it is." The man held out his hand, and Ronnie laid the penny on his palm. The man closed his hand upon it. "Now," he said, "what shall I write?" He took a fresh sheet of paper and looked at Ronnie, and the little boy saw that the eyes behind the round glasses were bright and kind. "Dear Uncle Gerald," Ronnie began. "Please come. I do not like it here. I want to come back to you. It is forlorn here, not fairylands——" "Eh, what’s that?" asked the man. "You dictate very fast. ’Not fairylands’? Yes?" "I am mizzabel," Ronnie continued. "Please come quickly and take me away. Cejic and Githa do not like me. They are so pompshus——" "What’s that?" asked the man. "I do not like them," Ronnie went on. "I like the dogs much better; kiss them all on their foreheads for me, not their noses, they are too wet, especially Rannoch. Please come quick. I am so mizzable. Your loving Ronnie.... That’s all, thank you." "Mizzable, eh?" the man repeated. "Is it indiscreet to ask why?" "I don’t know exactly myself," said Ronnie. "It just _is_." "Ah," said the man. "I know that; that’s the very worst kind. Long since you came Home?" "Oh, very long," Ronnie answered sadly. "Ages and ages." "Hm-m-m!" said the man. "With relations?" "Yes, but Uncle Gerald’s a relation too, you know, only he’s a nice one—oh, a ’dorable relation." "How is it you’re here and not with him then?" asked the man. "It was arranged," Ronnie said solemnly. "_I_ didn’t do it." "I see," said the man. "’It was an order.’ And what will the parents out in the Shiny say?" Ronnie looked grave. "I b’lieve they’d like it," he said, after a moment’s thought. "_They_ ’dore Uncle Gerald too." "Hm-m-m! Seems a popular person," said the man. "What’s his name?" "Same as daddie’s and mine." "Yes, and yours?" "Ronald Forsyth Hardy." "Then he’s Gerald Hardy, I suppose? And where is he at present?" "Scotland," said Ronnie promptly. "But that’s a bit vague. What part of Scotland?" "Oh, they’re sure to know him there; he goes every year; he told me so." "Were you there with him?" "No, I was in his own bungalow. He went to Scotland after I left." "Can you remember the name of his bungalow?" "Yes: Longhope." "Any station?" "There _is_ a station, but it’s very far off, and I don’t remember its name. Won’t my letter get to him?" the little boy asked anxiously.