"`My dear darling Syd'--why, this is three days old. I didn't notice it before--`Here's nearly a week and you haven't been to see me. Do come. I want to say something so particular. If you don't come before, of course you'll be at the races. I've got a new frock'--frock without a k--`new frock for the occasion'--Ha, ha! What a rum little gipsy she is! Put the _k_ she dropped in frock into occasion--`I say, do tell your aunt and uncle all the truth'--Likely!--`and then I can tell dear dad'--Jigger dear dad!--`I feel so wicked. He must know soon.'--What did she put two thick lines under that for?--`That's all now, because the dressmaker'--with only one s--`has come to try on my frock. I say, do tell your dear aunt. She'll be awfully cross at first, but when she knows all--that's all, dear.--Your affeckshunt for ever and ever, Lar Sylphide'--Lar la--Yar! Yar! Tell auntie--phew! Talk about all the fat in the fire, and me with it. Uncle's parlous state won't be nothing to mine. Ugh!" The boy jumped as if he had received a blow, and turned towards the window. For the door was opened suddenly and Jane reappeared. "Not gone then, Impidence?" "No, I'm not gone yet, Saucebox. Why don't you tell my aunt?" "Never you mind. What was that you were scuffling into your jacket pocket? Worms for fishing?" "Of course." "Was it? I know better. I heered the paper crackle; it's another letter for her." "What!" cried the boy, changing colour. "What her?" "Her as you write to. I saw you scribbling, and watched you sneak off down to the village to post it." "You're a wicked fibster, Jenny." "Oh, no, I'm not. What did you give the postman five shillings for?" "I didn't," said the boy, flaring up. "Yes, you did, and it was to bring letters for you on the sly, I shall write and inform the post-office people." "Yes, you do, and I'll half kill you, and poison old Mark." "There! I knew it. Who is she?" "You be off." "No, nor I shan't be off neither. I believe it's Dan Smart's girl, who's gone to London. Oh, my! what a wicked one you are, Master Syd, for such a boy. Your sangwidges is ready. Shall I bring 'em here?" "Did you get the flask?" "Yes." "And filled it with milk and sherry?" "Yes, but you don't deserve it, for threatening to get poor Mark the sack." "Then you shouldn't threaten to tell tales." "I won't, Master Syd, if you won't." "All right, then, it's a truce. Here, I must be off." "What, without your sangwidges and flask?" "No; to get my fishing-rod." "Then you won't tell?" "Tell? No. Here, give us a kiss, Jenny." "Shan't. They're all for Mark." "Must," cried the boy, seizing her round the waist. "Pst! Someone coming." Syd dashed out of the window, and the girl began to move some of the breakfast things, but was interrupted by the entrance of a sharp-looking young groom with very closely-cut hair, and trousers so tight in the leg that the wonder was how he put them on and pulled them off.