"Hallo, ladies! how long are you goin' to be titivatin' yourselves? There ain't no company comin'. The sausages are on the table, and the old 'ooman's gittin' so impatient that she's beginnin' to abuse the cat." This last remark was too true and sad to be passed over in silence. Old Mrs Flint's age had induced a spirit of temporary oblivion as to surroundings, which made her act, especially to her favourite cat, in a manner that seemed unaccountable. It was impossible to conceive that cruelty could actuate one who all her life long had been a very pattern of tenderness to every living creature. When therefore she suddenly changed from stroking and fondling her cat to pulling its tail, tweaking its nose, slapping its face, and tossing it off her lap, it is only fair to suppose that her mind had ceased to be capable of two simultaneous thoughts, and that when it was powerfully fixed on sausages she was not aware of what her hands were doing to the cat. "You'll excuse our homely arrangements, Miss Lillycrop," said Mr Flint, as he helped his guest to the good things on the table. "I never could get over a tendency to a rough-and-ready sort o' feedin'. But you'll find the victuals good." "Thank you, Mr Flint. I am sure you must be very tired after the long walks you take. I can't think how postmen escape catching colds when they have such constant walking in all sorts of weather." "It's the constancy as saves us, ma'am, but we don't escape altogether," said Flint, heaping large supplies on his grandmother's plate. "We often kitch colds, but they don't often do us damage." This remark led Miss Lillycrop, who had a very inquiring mind, to induce Solomon Flint to speak about the Post-Office, and as that worthy man was enthusiastic in regard to everything connected with his profession, he willingly gratified his visitor. "Now, I want to know," said Miss Lillycrop, after the conversation had run on for some time, and appetites began to abate,--"when you go about the poorer parts of the city in dark nights, if you are ever attacked, or have your letters stolen from you." "Well, no, ma'am--never. I can't, in all my long experience, call to mind sitch a thing happenin'--either to me or to any other letter-carrier. The worst of people receives us kindly, 'cause, you see, we go among 'em to do 'em service. I did indeed once hear of a letter being stolen, but the thief was not a man--he was a tame raven!" "Oh, Solomon!" said May, with a laugh. "Remember that Grannie hears you."