Jane-Anne had got her heart’s desire. She was allowed to wait upon Mr. Wycherly. She laid his breakfast and carried it in. She laid his luncheon and his dinner and her good aunt brought the heavy trays to the slab outside the dining-room door, and Jane-Anne fetched dishes one by one and set them on table or sideboard, and handed vegetables and poured out Mr. Wycherly’s beer for him from the old brown Toby jug that had once belonged to Admiral Bethune. It was brought about in this wise. When Jane-Anne had been in Holywell about a month there came a letter for her one morning. Now, that she should have a letter at all, except from her aunt, was a tremendous and most untoward event. Yet it was undoubtedly for her, for it was addressed Miss Jane-Anne (no surname), c/o M. Wycherly, Esq., not enclosed in one of his, but stamped and sent to her direct. She found it on her plate at breakfast when she came down, and turned it over and over in her hands before she opened it. The handwriting was small, clear and upright, and rather like Mr. Wycherly’s own. She noticed this at once as she had often taken his letters to post for him. "Aren’t you going to open your letter?" her aunt asked. Nervously Jane-Anne tore the envelope, flushed and paled, as she always did when excited, and then read it eagerly in absolute silence. "Well?" Mrs. Dew demanded impatiently. "Who’s been writing to you?" "It’s from Master Montagu," Jane-Anne cried breathlessly. "He’s written to _me_, to ask me to see that Mr. Wycherly eats his meals—oh aunt you _will_ let me wait on him now, won’t you?" "What’s he say?" asked Mrs. Dew. "My dear Jane-Anne," she read aloud, "I’m glad to hear from Guardie you’re all right again. It would be decent of you if you’d write to me sometimes and tell me how he is, for he never says himself. And there’s another thing: I wish you’d go in and out sometimes at meals and see that he isn’t reading and forgetting to eat at all. That’s what he does if he isn’t watched, Robina told me. Just go in and joggle his elbow and remind him, if he’s got a book, especially if it’s ’Aeschylus’; he’s very fond of that and forgets the chops and potatoes and everything. And please make him go out every day; you might take him. You see he used always to take Mause, our dog, for a walk, but she’s dead, poor thing. "You’ve not got much to do, with no school, so just look after Guardie like a good kid. I shall be awfully obliged, and please write. "Yours truly, "MONTAGU BETHUNE WYCHERLY." "There," said Jane-Anne.