“Well, since I’ve wasted so much of the Queen’s time——!” said Bundock, flattered. They adjourned to the parlour to give him a rest, and denuding himself of both cap and bag of office, he occupied oracularly the long-unused arm-chair, while Caleb, uncomfortably perched on a seat of slippery horsehair, started to unfold the situation. “Take off your hat,” broke in Martha. “Mr. Bundock will be thinking you’ve no manners.” “Oi’ll be soon gooin’ outside again,” said Caleb obstinately, and re-started his story. “Do let me explain,” interrupted Martha at last. “Do let me get a word in,” cried Caleb. “Well, take off your hat.” “Oi’ll be gooin’ outside soon, Oi tell ye.” “Then you can put it on again.” “Oi shall never make Bundock sensible, ef you keep interruptin’ me.” “You see, Mr. Bundock, it’s this way——” began Martha. “Oi’ve told him all that,” said Caleb. “Let _me_ speak.” “Well, take off your hat,” said Martha. “Oi’ll be gooin’ outside agen, won’t Oi?” Bundock was examining the letter which had been laid on the table as for an operation. “But it don’t look like a woman’s writing,” he interrupted. “That would be spidery.” “’Tain’t likely she could write herself in that condition,” began Caleb, but Martha’s face again hushed him down. “There’s neither seal nor sticking envelope,” pursued the expert. “Nothing but a wafer. Comes from a poor man.” “Her new husband,” said Caleb, and set Martha grimacing again. “Oi’ll be soon gooin’ outside,” he protested, misunderstanding. “What you want,” summed up Bundock judicially, “is a mixture of discretion with matrimony, seasoned with a sprinkle of learning.” “He talks like the Book!” said Caleb admiringly. “But where _is_ this mixture?” inquired Martha eagerly. “She don’t exist,” said Bundock. “But Miss Gentry is the nearest lady that can read, and Fate is just sending me with a letter and a packet to her.” The couple looked doubtful. “She ain’t matrimony,” said Caleb. “No,” admitted Bundock, “but I guess she’s old enough to be, though I haven’t seen her census paper—he, he! And besides she’s a dressmaker!” “What’s that to do with it?” asked Caleb. “I see your missus understands,” said Bundock mysteriously. “But she won’t walk five miles to read my letter,” urged the blushing Martha. Caleb had one of the great inspirations of his life. “And ain’t it time you got a new gownd?” Martha flushed up. “Oh, Caleb! Don’t let us run to vanity!” “Wanity, mother! It ain’t tinkling ornaments nor cauls nor nose-jewels,” protested Caleb, with a vague reminiscence of her Biblical readings. “And ye’ve had naught since the sucking-pig Oi bought ye for your sixtieth birthday.” But Martha shook her head, quoting firmly: “_Let me be dressed fine as I will,_ _Birds, flowers, and worms exceed me still._” “Then why not a bonnet?” suggested Bundock. “That would be cheaper than a gown.” “Ay, a bonnet!” agreed Caleb, though he sounded it a “boarnt.”