"She'd see that Inchcawdy canna compeer wi' us; we've patronised her weel in Pettybaw!" Truly, as Stevenson says, 'he who goes fishing among the Scots peasantry with condescension for a bait will have an empty basket by evening.' At eleven o'clock a boy arrived at Bide-a-Wee with an interesting-looking package, which I promptly opened.

That dear foolish lover of mine (whose foolishness is one of the most adorable things about him) makes me only two visits a day, and is therefore constrained to send me some reminder of himself in the intervening hours, or minutes--a book, a flower, or a note.

Uncovering the pretty box, I found a long, slender--something--of sparkling silver.
"What is it ?" I exclaimed, holding it up.

"It is too long and not wide enough for a paper-knife, although it would be famous for cutting magazines.

Is it a baton?
Where did Willie find it, and what can it be?
There is something engraved on one side, something that looks like birds on a twig,--yes, three little birds; and see the lovely cairngorm set in the end! Oh, it has words cut in it: 'To Jean: From Hynde Horn'-- Goodness me! I've opened Miss Dalziel's package!" Francesca made a sudden swooping motion, and caught box, cover, and contents in her arms.
"It is mine! I know it is mine!" she cried.