“Good-morning, Mrs. Baker,” he said, pleasantly, with his hat already in his hand, “I'm Harry Home, of San Francisco.” As he spoke his eye swept approvingly over the neat inclosure, the primly-tied papers, and well-kept pigeon-holes; the pot of flowers on her desk; her china-silk mantle, and killing little chip hat and ribbons hanging against the wall; thence to her own pink, flushed face, bright blue eyes, tendriled clinging hair, and then--fell upon the leathern mailbag still lying across the table. Here it became fixed on the unfortunate wire of the amorous expressman that yet remained hanging from the brass wards of the lock, and he reached his hand toward it. But little Mrs. Baker was before him, and had seized it in her arms. She had been too preoccupied and bewildered to resent his first intrusion behind the partition, but this last familiarity with her sacred official property--albeit empty--capped the climax of her wrongs. “How dare you touch it!” she said indignantly. “How dare you come in here! Who are you, anyway? Go outside, at once!” The stranger fell back with an amused, deprecatory gesture, and a long silent laugh. “I'm afraid you don't know me, after all!” he said pleasantly. “I'm Harry Home, the Department Agent from the San Francisco office. My note of advice, No. 201, with my name on the envelope, seems to have miscarried too.” Even in her fright and astonishment it flashed upon Mrs. Baker that she had sent that notice, too, to Hickory Hill. But with it all the feminine secretive instinct within her was now thoroughly aroused, and she kept silent. “I ought to have explained,” he went on smilingly; “but you are quite right, Mrs. Baker,” he added, nodding towards the bag. “As far as you knew, I had no business to go near it. Glad to see you know how to defend Uncle Sam's property so well. I was only a bit puzzled to know” (pointing to the wire) “if that thing was on the bag when it was delivered to you?” Mrs. Baker saw no reason to conceal the truth. After all, this official was a man like the others, and it was just as well that he should understand her power. “It's only the expressman's foolishness,” she said, with a slightly coquettish toss of her head. “He thinks it smart to tie some nonsense on that bag with the wire when he flings it down.”