To start with 'e was always my fav'rite brother, an' I couldn' bear his startin' in low sperits an' South Africa such a distance off; beside which, I told mysel', the girl must surely know 'er own mind.

So now you know," concluded Sam, "what I means by the nex' verse--" "Stratford-on-Avon, Stratford-on-Avon-- My true love she is false; I 'd rather not go to Stratford-on-Avon If I could go anywheres else." "But you promised to keep an eye on her." "'Enery 'ears from me regilar," said Sam evasively.
"If you don't pay 'er no visits," Tilda insisted, "the more you write the more you must be tellin' lies; an' that's not fair to 'Enery." Sam considered this for a while, and ended by drawing a folded scrap of paper from his trouser-pocket.
"I don't tell no more than can't be 'elped, missie.

You just list'n to this." He read:-- Dear Brother 'Enery,--This comes opin' to find you well as it leaves me at Stratford.

M.sends her love, an' you will be pleased to 'ear she grows beautifuller every day an' in character likewise.

It do seem to me this world is a better place for containin' of her; an' a man ought to be 'appy, dear 'Enery, when you can call 'er mine--" "That don't seem right to me some'ow," commented Tilda.
Sam scratched his head.
"What's wrong with it ?" "'Pears to me it ought to be 'yours'-- 'When you can call her yours.'" "I don't like that neither, not altogether.