Mr. Home, with his eyes on her pretty face, seemed to think it a not inhuman or unpardonable folly. “As long as he doesn't meddle with the inside of the bag, I suppose you must put up with it,” he said laughingly. A dreadful recollection, that the Hickory Hill postmaster had used the inside of the bag to convey HIS foolishness, came across her. It would never do to confess it now. Her face must have shown some agitation, for the official resumed with a half-paternal, half-reassuring air: “But enough of this. Now, Mrs. Baker, to come to my business here. Briefly, then, it doesn't concern you in the least, except so far as it may relieve you and some others, whom the Department knows equally well, from a certain responsibility, and, perhaps, anxiety. We are pretty well posted down there in all that concerns Laurel Run, and I think” (with a slight bow) “we've known all about you and John Baker. My only business here is to take your place to-night in receiving the 'Omnibus Way Bag,' that you know arrives here at 9.30, doesn't it?” “Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Baker hurriedly; “but it never has anything for us, except”--(she caught herself up quickly, with a stammer, as she remembered the sighing Green's occasional offerings) “except a notification from Hickory Hill post-office. It leaves there,” she went on with an affectation of precision, “at half past eight exactly, and it's about an hour's run--seven miles by road.” “Exactly,” said Mr. Home. “Well, I will receive the bag, open it, and dispatch it again. You can, if you choose, take a holiday.” “But,” said Mrs. Baker, as she remembered that Laurel Run always made a point of attending her evening levee on account of the superior leisure it offered, “there are the people who come for letters, you know.” “I thought you said there were no letters at that time,” said Mr. Home quickly. “No--but--but”--(with a slight hysterical stammer) “the boys come all the same.” “Oh!” said Mr. Home dryly. “And--O Lord!”--But here the spectacle of the possible discomfiture of Laurel Run at meeting the bearded face of Mr. Home, instead of her own smooth cheeks, at the window, combined with her nervous excitement, overcame her so that, throwing her little frilled apron over her head, she gave way to a paroxym of hysterical laughter. Mr. Home waited with amused toleration for it to stop, and, when she had recovered, resumed. “Now, I should like to refer an instant to my first communication to you. Have you got it handy?” Mrs. Baker's face fell. “No; I sent it over to Mr. Green, of Hickory Hill, for information.” “What!”