“Tremenjous! Talk of enthusiasm! Man veen, man veen! Didn't I say we'd rise as one man? We will, too. We're going up to Tynwald Coort on Tynwald day, two thousand strong. Tynwald Coort? Yes, and why not? Drum and fife bands, bless you--two of them. Not much music, maybe, but there'll be noise enough. It's all settled. Southside fishermen are coming up Foxal way; north-side men going down by Peel. Meeting under Harry Delany's tree, and going up to the hill on mass (en masse). No bawling, though--no singing out--no disturbing the Coort at all.” “Well, well! What then?” said Philip. “Then we're wanting you to spake for us, Dempster. Aw, nothing much--nothing to rag you at all. Just tell them flat we won't--that'll do.” “It's a serious matter, Pete. I must think it over.” “Aw, think and think enough, Dempster--but mind you do it, though. The boys are counting on you. 'He's our anchor and he'll hould,' they're saying; But, bother the harbours, anyway,” reaching his hand for something on the mantelpiece. “What do you think?” “Nay,” said Philip, with a long breath of weariness and relief. “Guess, then,” said Pete, putting his hand behind him. Philip shook his head and smiled feebly. Then, with the expression of a boy on his birthday, Pete leaned over Philip, and said in a half-whisper across the top of his head, “I've heard from Kate.” Philip turned ghastly, his lip trembled, and he stammered, “You've--you've--heard from Kate, have you?” “Look at that,” cried Pete, and round came the letter with a triumphant sweep. Philip's respiration grew difficult and noisy. Slowly, very slowly, he reached out his hand, took the letter, and looked at its superscription. “Read it--read it,” said Pete; “no secrets at all.” With head down and eyebrows hiding his eyes, with trembling hands that tore the envelope, Philip took out the letter and read it in passages--broken, blurred, smudged, as by the smoke of a fo'c'stle lamp. “Deerest peat i am gettin that much better... i am that happy and comforbel... sometimes i am longing for a sight of the lil ones swate face... no more at present... ure own trew wife.” “Come to the P. N. yet, Philip?” said Pete. He was on his knees before the fire, lighting his pipe with a red coal. “axpectin to be home sune but... give my luv and bess respects to the Dempster when you see him he was so good to me when “were forren the half was never towl you” “She's not laving a man unaisy, you see,” said Pete. Philip could not speak. His throat was choking; his tongue filled his mouth; his eyes were swimming in tears that scorched them. Nancy, who had been up to Sulby with news of the letter, came in at the moment, and Philip raised his head. “I told my aunt not to expect me to-night, Nancy. Is my room upstairs ready?” “Aw, yes, always ready, your honour,” said Nancy, with a curtsey.