The noise of the bureau top sliding down aroused him; Mr. Heatherley was
closing in the remains of the artificial flies. That meant he would be
going out to fish. And the moment he heard the door shut, Mark sprang
up, slid back the bureau top, and began to write his letter. It was hard
work.


"DEAR MRS. STORMER,

"My guardian wishes me to beg you and Mr. Stormer to pay us a visit as
soon as you come back from the Tyrol. Please tell Mr. Stormer that only
the very best fishermen--like him--can catch our trout; the rest catch
our trees. This is me catching our trees (here followed a sketch).
My sister is going to be married to-morrow, and it will be disgusting
afterwards unless you come. So do come, please. And with my very best
greetings,

"I am,

"Your humble servant,

"M. LENNAN."


When he had stamped this production and dropped it in the letter-box, he
had the oddest feeling, as if he had been let out of school; a desire
to rush about, to frolic. What should he do? Cis, of course, would
be busy--they were all busy about the wedding. He would go and saddle
Bolero, and jump him in the park; or should he go down along the river