At the study window Robert Darnley took his station, looking listlessly towards the road that passed the end of the avenue and led towards the village of Smatterton. Turning a little towards the left hand he could see at a very short distance the magnificent towers of Smatterton castle and the smart gilt weathercock of Smatterton church. The young man was beginning to grow sentimental and melancholy; but soon his thoughts were diverted from sentimentality by the appearance of Nick Muggins and his pony fumbling their clumsy entrance at the great white gate that opened into the road. Better riders than Nick are sometimes puzzled at opening a heavy swing gate on horseback; but Nick would always manage it without dismounting, if he had to make twenty efforts for it. Nick was certainly a picturesque, though by no means a poetical object; and his appearance dispersed the gathering cloud of lackadaisicalness which was just threatening Robert Darnley with a fit of melancholy. Other thoughts, though bearing on the same object, now took possession of him; and as he was very straitforward and prompt in whatever occurred to him, he immediately resolved to question the boy concerning the lost letters. For this purpose, without waiting for the arrival of the letter-carrier at the house-door, Robert Darnley went partly down the avenue to meet him. Nick made one of his best bows, and grinned his compliments to the young gentleman on his arrival in England; for this was the first meeting of the parties since the rector's son arrived at home. Robert Darnley was not a man of compliments; he proceeded directly to business. Producing from his pocket the letter which had been picked up by the little girl, he held it out to the lad, saying: "Muggins, can you give any account of this letter; it was picked up in the road the other day; do you ever drop the letters out of the bag?" Muggins, who was as cunning a rogue as many of his betters, concealed his conviction and shame as well as might be, and took the letter into his hand with much simplicity of look, and gazed upon it for a while with "lack-lustre eye;" not that he had any great need to examine the letter in order to answer the question, but thereby he gained time to meditate a lie of some kind or other. After looking at it for a few moments he handed it back to Robert Darnley, and said: "Please, sir, I can't make out the 'rection of it." That might be true, but it was not much of an answer to the question which was proposed to him. "The direction of the letter," answered Darnley, "is to Miss Primrose at Smatterton. Now do you remember ever losing a letter that should have been delivered at the rectory at Smatterton?"