Bess routed out some writing-paper, and then she went down to Miss Duck and borrowed a pen and ink, and then she and George sat down and spoilt a dozen sheets of paper, and at last between them they produced the following: ‘Mr. George Smith presents his compliments to Mr. A. B., and he would be very pleased to accept his offer. He is four-and-twenty, active, and anxious to get on. If Mr. A. B. wishes for an interview, he will call at any time Mr. A. B. chooses to appoint. Mr. George Smith thinks it well to enclose his _carte_ for Mr. A. B. to see. Will Mr. A. B. kindly answer per return.’ When the important note was folded and in the envelope, and the address had been carefully copied from the paper, Bess and George both went together to put it in the post. Bess peeped down the letter-box to see if it had gone safely in, and then George peeped, and then they both walked away full of hope, and feeling sure that the photograph would settle the matter at once. ‘If A. B. were a lady it would,’ said George. Then Bess said he was a nasty vain thing, and he thought all the girls were in love with him. To which George replied that it didn’t much matter if they were, as he was only in love with one girl, and she was the dearest little girl in the world, and God bless her little heart, etc., etc., which style of conversation being probably quite familiar to the reader, there is no necessity to make further extracts from it. It was very wicked of Bess to do what she did that night, I dare say, but you see she had not been brought up very well. She knelt down and prayed to God to bless her dear husband, who had sacrificed so much for her, and she asked Him to let them live happily together all their lives; and, oh, if God would only let George get this situation and make Mr. A. B. love him, she would be, oh, so thankful. Her heart was full of gratitude to God for giving her George’s love, and that night it poured out and spread itself over everything she loved and knew. And as she was dropping off to sleep, George distinctly heard her say,— ‘God bless Mr. A. B.’ And he wasn’t a bit jealous. CHAPTER IX. CONCERNING GERTIE HECKETT, A KIND LADY, A GOOD DOG, AND A WICKED BIRD. Mr. Josh Heckett was about again, and Gertie and the animals were having a bad time of it. The temporary retirement from business which had been necessitated by Mr. Heckett’s injuries—how those injuries were acquired he had not yet condescended to explain to any one—had not given that calm to his mind which retirement from business is supposed to give. Towards the close of his illness, and just before he was allowed to go out, a vigorous playfulness had set in, which was very badly appreciated by the inhabitants, biped and quadruped. Mr. Heckett had playfully hurled his pillows at the rabbit-hutches, and had taken to pelt the dogs with such handy trifles as the candlestick, a plate, a cup, a pair of snuffers, or a boot.