"Open it, Mr. Dumbrick," said Mrs. Preedy, who was always one in a Rosemary Lane crowd. There are in every neighbourhood two or three women ordained to fulfil this special mission. "Open it, and let's know what's inside." Seth, recalled to himself by this polite request, looked up with shrewd twinkles, and replied: "Sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Preedy, but this is a private matter between the Duchess and the Queen, and to let _you_ into the secret'd be more than my head's worth. Let's go downstairs, Duchess, and see what her Majesty has to say to you." "He's the selfishest man," said Mrs. Preedy, "is that Mr. Dumbrick, as ever I clapped eyes on--keeping things to hisself in that way! It's a good job he ain't married; he'd torment the soul out of a poor woman." Meanwhile, this selfishest of men was sitting in his cellar, with the Duchess on his knee. "Duchess," he said, in a tone which denoted that he wished to engage her serious attention, "this is a most unexpected and mysterious occurrence. Since I've been in Rosemary Lane, I've received altogether three letters--about one every ten years--and here you are at your age beginning to bother the Post Office. You're commencing early, Duchess." The Duchess nodded languidly. The letter, not being something nice to eat, was of no interest to her. "The question is," continued Seth, who seemed to have lost for the time his decision of character, "what is in this letter, and who sent it? It's a good handwriting, and there can't be any mistake about its being for you." "Open it, Daddy," said Sally. "There's no hurry, Sally. Don't let us meet trouble halfway. Duchess, do you love Daddy Dumbrick?" "Oh, yes," sighed the Duchess, closing her eyes, and leaning back in Seth's arms. "You don't want to leave him?" "No," murmured the Duchess. "Because you see, Sally, the world'd seem a different place to me, not half so good as it was, if anything was to occur as'd take the Duchess away from us." "No one shall," cried Sally, beginning to share Seth's fears, "no one can!" "I don't know that," said Seth, with an apprehensive observance of the letter; "they sha'n't if I can help it. If I had plenty of money, which I haven't, you, me, and the Duchess'd steal away one night from Rosemary Lane, and'd go and live in the country, where nobody'd know us, and where we could see green fields and flowers, and breathe the fresh air from morning to night. For that's what our precious wants. Green fields and fresh air'd soon pull her round, and we'd live there happily all our lives." "Like gipsies, Daddy." "Yes, Sal, like gipsies." "That _would_ be nice," said Sally; adding wistfully, "but it can't be, Daddy, can it?" "No, it can't be, unless a shower of gold was to come down through the ceiling--and that's not likely. Let's see what's in the letter."