Mrs. Mortimer arose, stepped to a bundle of shawls lying in a Windsor chair, unwrapped a portable writing-case which appeared to be the kernel of the bundle, and laid it on the table--all this with extreme docility. "I'll trouble you to do the writin'," said Tilda, laying a sheet of paper before Sam after she had chosen a pen and unsnapped the ink-case. "Why not Mortimer?" he protested feebly. "I wouldn' make Arguin' a 'abit, if I was you." Sam collapsed and took the pen from her, after eyeing the palms of his hands as though he had a mind to spit on them. "Now write," she commanded, and began to dictate slowly. She had taken command of the room. The Mortimers could only stand by and listen, as helpless as Arthur Miles. She spoke deliberately, patiently, indulging all Sam's slowness of penmanship-- "'DEAR Mr. 'UCKS,--This comes 'opin' to find you well as it leaves us all at present. I promised to write in my own 'and; but time is pressin', as I am goin' to tell you. So you must please put up with Mr. Bossom, and excuse mistakes. I will sign this to let you know there is no fake. We are at Stratford-on-Avon: w'ich for slow goin' must be a record: but all well and 'earty. Mr. M. 'as 'ad luck with 'is actin'--' 'Ow much?" "Six-seven-nine," answered Sam as he caught up with her. "Clear?" Sam nodded. "Barrin', o' course, the bill for to-night's board an' lodgin'." "'--Up to date 'e 'as paid S. Bossom over six pound, and 'as picked up with an engagement 'ere. Dear sir, you will see there's no risk, and S. Bossom will stay 'ere a week an' collect the balance.'" "The Lord forbid!" Sam protested, laying down his pen. "I'd like to know oo's writin' this letter--you or me?" She pointed to the paper. "Go on, please. 'Dear sir, a party as we will call W. B. 'as joined the company. W'ich is strange to say--'" "Who's _he?_" Sam looked up again, but Tilda's finger still pointed firmly. "'W'ich 'e too continues 'earty; but You-know-Oo is close after 'im; and so, dear sir, 'avin' 'eard of an Island called 'Olmness, we are off there to-morrow, and will let you know further. W'ich I remain yours respectfully--' Now 'and over the pen an' let me sign." "'Olmness? Where's 'Olmness?" She took the pen from him and slowly printed TILDA, in roman capitals; examined the signature, made sure it was satisfactory, and at length answered-- "It's a Island, somewhere in the Bristol Channel, w'ich is in the Free Library. We've just come from there." "An' you reckon I got nothin' better to do than go gallivantin' with you, lookin' for islands in the Bristol Channel?" "--W'en I said, on'y a minute back," she answered with composure, "that we were leavin' you in Stratford for a week." "Ho!" he commented scornfully. "Leavin' me, are you? _You_ leavin' _me?_ . . . Well, if that ain't good, I declare!" She looked at him as one disdaining argument.