unless she understands something of the kind of woman that sends it. You will let me read it to her."
Feelings of kinship were strong with the Lindsays, and there had been a rather uneasy fear in Allan's mind that his little teacher would leave him; for her father's sister—a minister's wife—would be bound to send for her.
When Allan went into the garden (where mother was giving George some directions about the vegetable beds that he was laying out) with Amy's open letter in his hand, she stopped short in a most important sentence, and turned to meet him.
"She's no to gang, I hope," said she, eagerly.
"No, it's good news for us, mother, but' Amy's a little downcast. She says I may read you the letter. It's a good plain hand, and that's the best that can be said of it. Now don't say a word till I come to the end, for there's a message for you," and Allan read it right through.
"Dear Mrs. Lindsay!—that dear Mrs. Lindsay. Well, that beats a' I ever heard in my life. I think Amy, poor thing, has been the means of showing us the hollowness of things we are used to hold in high esteem, for if Mrs. Hammond made me sick of gentility, this is like to make one ashamed of a profession o' religion. No a
