“Read her letter and you will see how much she is interested in you,” Robert said, handing Gertie a large, unsealed letter, directed in a very peculiar hand, and which I will give in part, avoiding as much as possible the broad Scotch which made it so unintelligible that Robert was obliged himself to read it to Gertie before she clearly understood it. “My bonnie lassie,” it began, “an old crone from over the sea sends you her blessing and prayers for the care you’ve tooken of my puir laddie’s grave, and the posys you’ve sent, and the letters you’ve writ with the same, and which fetches you very near to my heart and love, and so I send you these stones from Can-Gorrum, to wear round your bonny neck, and in yer pretty ears. My grandson, Robert, will tell you how his puir mother had them, and gie them to me when I was cauld, and hungry, and sair; but I dinna sell them for the siller, as she thinket I moight. I weatherit the storm, Jinnie and me, and kep ’em for her ain sweet bairn, Dolly, who died; and it’s not the loikes of Jinnie to wear sic as these, and her lassies bein’ all lads, I sends them to you with my blessin’, and duty to the beautiful Ladye Skiller, and so I greet you; God bless you, good-by. “MISTRESS DORATHY LYLE, “by her grandson Robert.” Gertie had listened intently until the point was reached where reference was made to my “grandson Robert,” when she started up, exclaiming: “_What?_” “Wait,” Robert said; “wait till I am through,” and, with a shaking voice, he finished the letter, laying a good deal of emphasis upon the last words, “by my grandson Robert.” “Her grandson! What does she mean, Mr. Macpherson? Does she mean _you_?” Gertie asked, and Robert replied: “Yes, Gertie, she means _me_. I am that woman’s grandchild, the son of her daughter, and I am going to tell you about it.” He spoke rapidly, and Gertie had no chance to interrupt him as he went on.