He was writing about something in the _Pilgrim's Progress_ and I think I'll send him a telegram in answer.' 'A letter would be cheaper,' she said.
'Ay, but I'm on holiday and I've no time for writing.' She gave me a form, and I wrote: _Ochterlony.

Post Office, Kyle .-- Demas will be at his mine within the week.

Strive with him, lest I faint by the way._ 'Ye're unco lavish wi' the words, sir,' was her only comment.
We parted with regret, and there was nearly a row when I tried to pay for the tea.

I was bidden remember her to one David Tudhole, farmer in Nether Mirecleuch, the next time I passed by Wamphray.
The village was as quiet when I left it as when I had entered.

I took my way up the hill with an easier mind, for I had got off the telegram, and I hoped I had covered my tracks.