"Maybe it's money from home," she suggested; but still he refused to accept. He was ignorant of the ways of women, but his instincts were trained to a hair-line, and he read mischief in her heart. Yet curiosity almost tempted him to accede--or was it the witchery of her presence? For Dixie May stood very close to him, closer than was necessary, and as she argued, half in earnest, she fixed him with her eyes. The boys by the fire, who had been looking on in wonder, became suddenly restive and impatient. Their little game of post-office had been broken up in the middle, and this stranger was monopolizing the postmistress. "But the postmaster thought it was for you," persisted Dixie May, now apparently annoyed. "He described you down to your hat-band; and if I don't get rid of this letter I'll have to take it clear back to town. Of course----" "Aw, take the letter!" broke in Hardy Atkins, striding over from his place and fiercely confronting Bowles. "What's the matter with you--ain't you got no manners? Well then, when a lady asks you to take a letter, _take it_!" He reached out to get the letter and force it upon him forthwith, but Dixie May tossed her head and jerked the missive away. "Who called you in on this, Hardy Atkins?" she inquired, turning upon him haughtily. "It's a wonder you wouldn't go off somewhere and read those pink scented billets-doux I gave you. I reckon this man knows his own name without any outside help. Now, you go on away and let me do this!" He went, his lips pouted out petulantly and a shifty look in his eye, and once more the fair postmistress turned upon her victim. "Now, here," she said, lowering her voice and speaking confidentially, "I'm not trying to force this upon you, but I've got a duty to perform. Think of the poor lady that wrote this letter," she urged, smiling significantly; "she may have something important to tell you. And don't mind a little thing like an alias--these boys have all got one." Once more she smiled, holding out the letter; and the boys favored him with dark and forbidding glances; but Bowles was game to the end. "So sorry," he murmured, bowing deferentially; "but my name is Bowles, not Houghton." "Well, well," said Dixie Lee, looking him between the eyes; "so your name is Bowles, eh? I certainly hope you'll excuse me, stranger, but I sure thought your name was Houghton!" So saying, she turned and left him; and after pondering upon the matter for some time Bowles suddenly felt his heart go sick, for she had addressed him at the last as "Stranger." CHAPTER XIV THE ENGLISH LORD