“Get away with you!” said old Teesdale, laughing at the grave girl who was staring him in the face without the glimmer of a smile. “Get away I will, one of these days; and glad enough you'll be when that day comes and you know all about me. I've always told you a day like that would come sooner or later. It might come to-morrow—it might come to-night!” “Missy, my dear, I do wish you'd smile and show me you're only joking. Not that it's one of your best jokes, my dear, nor one of your newest either. Ah, that's it—that's better!” She had jumped up to look once more out of the window: a man was passing towards the hen-yard, it was little Geordie, and Missy sat down smiling. “Then tell me what it is you're busy with,” she began in a different tone; an attempt at the old saucy manner which the farmer loved as a special, sacred perquisite of his own. “Now you're yourself again! I'm writing a long, long letter, Missy. Guess who to?” “To—to Mr. Oliver?” “Mr. Oliver! Your father, my dear—your own father! Now guess what it's about, if you can!” “About—me?” David nodded his head with great humour. “Yes, it's about you. A nice character I'm giving you, you may depend!” “Are you saying that I'm a regular bad lot then?” “Ah, that's telling!” “If you were, you wouldn't be far from the mark, if you only knew it. But let's hear what you have said.” “Nay, come! You don't expect me to let you hear what I've said about you, do you, Missy?” “Of course I do,” said Missy firmly. “But that would be queer! Nay, Missy, I couldn't show you this letter, I really couldn't. For one thing, it would either make you conceited or else very indignant with poor me!” “So that's the kind of character you've been giving me, is it?” said Missy, smiling grimly. “Now I must see it.” “Nay, come, I don't think you must, Missy—I don't think you must!” “But I want to.” So exclaiming, the girl rose resolutely to her feet; and her resolution settled the matter; for it will have been seen that the weak old man himself was all the time wishing her to see what he had written about her. After all, why should she not know how fond he was of her? If it made her ever such a little bit fonder of him, well, there surely could be no harm in that. Still, Mr. Tees-dale chose to walk up and down the room while Missy stood at the window to read his letter, for it was now growing dark. “I see you mention that twenty pounds.” Missy had looked up suddenly from the letter. “How was it you managed to get the money that night, after all? I have often meant to ask you.” Mr. Teesdale stopped in his walk. “What does it matter how I got them, honey? I neither begged, borrowed nor stole 'em, if that's what you want to know.” The old gentleman laughed. “I want to know lots more than that, because it matters a very great deal, when I went and put you to all that inconvenience.” “Well, I went to the man who buys all our milk. I told you I was going to him, didn't I?”