Be that as it may, and though the neighbours pitied her, there was a peaceful and a triumphant smile on the dead, old face. A WOMAN’S WAGER A WOMAN’S WAGER The postman came swinging down the village street. It was morning, but the street was already astir, for though it was but early spring, and the apple-blossom was not yet out, the weather was warm, and those who found spare moments managed to get to the cottage doors and look out upon the sunshine. At the corner the mill-wheel was going round, and upon the bridge that spanned the stream a knot of girls had gathered, with whom the miller’s son and a young farmer on his way to the early train were holding merry converse. The postman came past. He bore the character of a surly fellow, though he was young yet, and should have been too well-mannered not to throw a civil word to a pretty girl. But some said he had been disappointed in love, and had sworn never to look at woman more. “What, never a letter for me?” cried the foremost of the girls, planting herself full in his path as he went by. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re a postman for, Mr. Frewin, for it don’t seem to me as if ye ever had nothing to carry!” She planted her arms akimbo and laughed in his face, her own a blaze of sweet merriment, too pretty to be bold, and too frank and sincere to be anything but captivating. But Ben Frewin neither answered nor looked up, and the girl drew back baffled, but no wit discomposed, as he strode past her. “Not a bit of it, ye’ll never do it, Letty,” laughed another of the girls, and the young farmer lit his pipe with a merry twinkle in his eye. “Well, I shouldn’t like to say as Miss Letty couldn’t do any blessed thing as she pleased,” declared he gallantly, “but I’m bound to allow, it don’t look likely so far.” And he nodded to them all round as he went on his way to the station. “What don’t look like it?” asked the young miller, coming out of the mill with his whitened face. He had not heard the last passage of arms. “’Ere’s Letty Cox swears she’ll get Mr. Frewin to be her beau for a Sunday evening,” laughed one of the girls, nudging her friend good-humouredly. The miller looked at Letty sharply; then he smiled. “Bob Frewin ’ain’t been seen walking with a young ’ooman since Bett throwed him over,” said he. “Well that ain’t no reason,” smiled Letty with a little pout, and a killing glance from under the black fringes of her soft grey eyes. The miller answered it as it became him to do, and the girl who had spoken before giggled: “Lor, ain’t she just a bit set up?” said she. But the miller did not seem to mind. “Ye promised to walk with _me_ next Sunday though,” said he persuasively. “There’s no tellin’ what I might be wantin’ to do next Sunday,” said she. “It might be rainin’ for aught we know.” “It might,” allowed he. “But again it mightn’t, and if it don’t—well, ye promised.”