"Surely I know the writing," I mused, and then began to look at the
postmarks as if a letter were something of very uncommon occurrence. I
could make nothing of the illegible smear in the corner, however, and so
opened it, and read as follows:--


Dear old Justin Martyr,

I suppose you have about forgotten your old schoolfellow, Tom Temple,
and it's natural you should; but he has not forgotten you. You see, you
have risen to fame, and I have remained in obscurity. Ah well, such is
the fate of that community called 'country gentlemen.' But this is not
what I want to write about, and I am going straight to the real object
of this letter.

We--that is, mother, the girls, and myself--are contemplating a real
jolly Christmas. We are inviting a few friends to spend Christmas and
New Year with us, and we wish you to make one of the number. Will you
come and spend a fortnight or so at Temple Hall? Of course it is rather
quiet here, but we are going to do our best to make it more lively than
usual. The weather looks frosty, and that promises skating. We have a
few good horses, so that we can have some rides across the country.
There is also plenty of shooting, hunting, etc., etc. Altogether, if you
will come and help us; we can promise a fairly good bill of fare. What
do you say? You must excuse me for writing in this unconventional
strain, but I can't write otherwise to my old schoolfellow.

We shall all be really disappointed if you say 'no,' so write at once
and tell us you will come, also when we may expect you. All the news