Then the Dominie told a number of
amusing stories, and the school-master sang them several of his best
songs, and cider and ale was drank.
And while the pleasantry was at its highest, a loud knock was heard at
the door. The revelry ceased for a moment. There was the postmaster's
boy, bearing a letter with several curious stamps on it. Hanz was
overjoyed. He shook the boy's hand, and then scanned over the letter.
"God pless mine poor poy, Titus!" he exclaimed. "He wrotes dat ledder.
Yes, he does; mine poor poy Titus does;" and he struck his hands on his
knees, and laughed with joy. "He ton't forgets his old fadder. He be's a
goot poy, mine Titus." And he shook hands with the Dominie and the
inn-keeper. Indeed, he seemed so completely unmanned that he was
powerless to open the letter. Then he took a candle in his right hand,
and again scanned and scanned the superscription. "Sumthin' goot in dat
ledder. Mine poor poy Titus writes him!" he ejaculated, in a subdued
tone.
[Illustration: Then tears gushed into her eyes and moistened her pale
cheeks.
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