Well, they made their complaint to Salmon; who was properly indignant and said he would look into it, Tod putting in a word for the offender, Lee. "We don't want him reported to headquarters, or anything of that kind, you know, Salmon. Just give him a reprimand, and warn him to be cautious in future." "I'll see to him, sir," nodded Salmon. (The final result of the burning of this letter of Helen Whitney's, and of another person's letter that got burnt later, was recorded in the last Series, in a paper called "Lee the Letter-Man." It may be as well to remind the reader that these stories told by "Johnny Ludlow" are not always placed consecutively as regards the time of their occurrence, but go backwards or forwards indiscriminately.) Being so near, Helen and Anna thought they would call on Herbert Tanerton and Grace at the Rectory; next, they just looked in at Timberdale Court--Robert Ashton's. Altogether, what with one delay and another, they arrived at home when lunch was nearly over. And who should be sitting there, but Sir John Whitney! He had come over unexpectedly to pass an hour or two. Helen Whitney was very clever in her way: but she was apt to be forgetful at times, as all the rest of us are. One thing she had totally and entirely forgotten to-day--and that was to ask Tod not to speak of the letter. So that when the Squire assailed them with reproaches for being late, Tod, unconscious that he was doing wrong, blurted out the truth. A letter from Mr. Leafchild to Helen had been partly burnt by old Lee, and they had been to Timberdale to complain to Salmon. "A letter from Leafchild to Helen!" cried Sir John. "That must be a mistake. Leafchild would not presume to write to Helen." She grew white as snow. Sir John had turned from the table to face her, and she dared not run away. The Squire was staring and frowning at the news of old Lee's sin, denouncing him hotly, and demanding to see the letter. "Yes, where is this letter?" asked Sir John. "Let me see it, Helen." "It--it was about the schools, papa." "About the schools! Like his impudence! What have you to do with the schools? Give me the letter." "My gracious me, burn a letter!" cried the Squire. "Lee must be in his dotage. The letter, my dear, the letter; we must see it." Between them both, Helen was in a corner. She might have been capable of telling a white fib and saying she had not the letter, rather than let her father see it. Anna, who knew she had it in her pocket, went for nobody; but Tod knew it also. Tod suspecting no complications, was holding out his hand for her to produce it. With trembling lips, and fingers that shook in terror, she slowly drew it forth. Sir John took the letter from her, the Squire caught hold of the burnt envelope.