Yours, MAIMIE.
Over and over again he read the letter, till the fire in his eyes began to gleam and his face became radiant with a tender glow.
"'Yours, Maimie,' eh?
I wonder now what she means," he mused.

"Seven years and for my life I don't know yet, but to-morrow night--yes, to-morrow night, I will know!" He placed the letter in its envelope and put it carefully in his inside pocket.

"Now for Kate, dear old girl, no better anywhere." He opened his letter and read: DEAR RANALD: What a lot of people will be delighted to see you back! First, dear old Dr.Marshall, who is in despair over the Institute, of which he declares only a melancholy ruin will be left if you do not speedily return.

Indeed, it is pretty bad.

The boys are quite terrible, and even my "angels" are becoming infected.