“You could ha’ waited till they dried!” Caleb said deprecatingly. “I did wait a post-day or so,” said Bundock with undiminished resentment. “But there’s such a thing, uncle, as duty to my Queen. Things might have got damper instead of drier, like the time the floods were out beyond Long Bradmarsh, and I might have had to swim out to you.” Caleb was impressed. “But _can_ you swim?” he inquired. “That’s not the point,” growled Bundock. “I don’t say I’d ha’ faced the elements for _you_, but if somebody with real traffic and entanglement were living here, e.g. the Duke of Wellington, I should have come through fire and water.” “The Dook at a farm!” Caleb smiled incredulously. “In the Battle of Waterloo,” said Bundock icily, “the whole fight was whether he or Boney should hold a farm.” “You don’t say!” cried Caleb excitedly. “And who got it?” “Well, it wasn’t Froggy’s Farm.” And Bundock roared with glee and renewed self-respect. Caleb guffawed too, but merely for elation at the Frenchy’s defeat. The calm and piping voice of Martha broke in upon this robustious duet, pointing out that there was no Duke in residence and no need for natation, but that since Jinny called for orders every Friday he might have given _her_ the letter. “Give the Queen’s mail to a girl!” Bundock looked apoplectic. “Jinny never loses anything,” said Martha, unimpressed. “She’ll lose her character if she ain’t careful,” he said viciously; “driving of a Sunday with Farmer Gale.” “That’s onny to chapel,” said Caleb. “A man that rich’ll never take her there!” sneered Bundock. “Why, Jinny’s only a child,” said Martha, roused at last. “And the best girl breathing. Look how she slaves for her grandfather!” “Jinny! Jinny!” Bundock muttered. “Nothing but Jinny all the day and all the way.” How often indeed had she snatched the gossip from his mouth, staled his earth-shaking tidings, even as the Bellman anticipated his jokes! “Let me catch her carrying letters, that’s all. I’ll have the law on her, child or no child. I expect she blows that horn to make the old folks think she’s got postal rights!” He did not mention that in his vendetta against the girl it was he who never hesitated to poach on the rival preserves, and that he was even now carrying a certain packet of tracts which he had found at “The Black Sheep” awaiting Jinny’s day, and which he had bagged on the ground that he had a letter for the same address. “Jinny would have saved your legs,” said Martha dryly. Caleb turned on her. “Ay, and his leggings too!” he burst forth with savage sarcasm. But at great moments deep calls to deep. “Women don’t understand a man’s duty. And Posty’s every inch a man.” Bundock tried to look his full manhood: fortunately the discovery of the letter at this instant enabled him to gain an inch or two by throwing back his shoulders, so long bent under the royal yoke. “_Mrs._ Flynt,” he announced majestically. “For _me_?” gasped Martha.