which Mr. Maylie beckoned him; much surprised at the mixture of sadness and boisterous spirits, which his whole behaviour displayed.
"You can write well now," said Harry, laying his hand upon his arm.
"I hope so, sir," replied Oliver.
"I shall not be at home again, perhaps for some time; I wish you would write to me—say once a fortnight, every alternate Monday, to the General Post Office in London: will you!" said Mr. Maylie.
"Oh! certainly sir; I shall be proud to do it," exclaimed Oliver, greatly delighted with the commission.
"I should like to know how—how my mother and Miss Maylie are," said the young man; and you can fill up a sheet by telling me what walks you take, and what you talk about, and whether she—they, I mean, seem happy and quite well. You understand me?"
"Oh! quite, sir, quite," replied Oliver.
"I would rather you did not mention it to