_Post-Scriptum._--“The messenger, being still at his meat, I open this to tell thee, Dick, that we had yesterday a litter of fourteen young pigs from the old sow, and that thy bay mare gave us a fine foal about a sen’night ago. The land is looking very well hereabouts, and so far we have had none of our stock or produce carried off by your rascally Parliamentarians, though we have twice contributed liberally to the needs of passing regiments of the king’s forces, which, to be sure, was our bounden duty. My gout is a deal better--I am in hopes to harness myself and go to the wars yet. “If all that A. D. says of thee is true, I am minded to cut thee off altogether. So no more at this present from thy uncle.” I laid this letter aside with many diverse feelings. It showed to me plainly that that precious rascal Anthony had drawn me out as we sat at the wayside inn, and had forthwith blabbed all I had said to Sir Nicholas, embellishing his news, doubtless, with a deal of his own invention and ornament. “If ever there comes a chance, Master Anthony,” says I, “I’ll pay you for your kindness.” And yet, going by the letter, was there aught untrue in what Anthony had evidently told them at the Manor House? It was true that I had left Sir Nicholas under a false impression; it was true that I had joined the Parliamentarians; it was true that I had spoken of Mistress Alison French in a way that was aught but respectful. “Lord!” says I to myself, “What a position am I placed in by my own folly.” And yet I was conscious of naught wrong in my conduct. I had left Sir Nicholas as I did in order to spare his feelings (and to save him from locking me up, as he surely would have done had he known my true thoughts), I had joined the Parliamentarians because I honestly agreed with them; and if I had said aught sharp about my cousin, why, it was because she had spoke sharply to me. “The mischief was,” thinks I, “to say aught at all to Anthony--I should have kept my thoughts to myself.”