He was in no hurry. He rammed his dead pipe with his finger, lit it again, sucked it, made it quack, drew a long breath, and then said quietly, “Let's see what's her news at all.” He opened the letter leisurely, and read bits of it aloud, as if reading to himself, but holding the postman while he did so in idle talk on the other side of the gate. “And how are you living to-day, Mr. Kelly? Aw, h'm--_getting that much better_ it's extraordinary--Yes, a nice everin', very, Mr. Kelly, nice, nice--_that happy and comfortable and Uncle Joe is that good_--heavy bag at you to-night, you say? Aw, heavy, yes, heavy--_love to Grannie and all inquiring friends_--nothing, Mr. Kelly, nothing--just a scribe of a line, thinking a man might be getting unaisy. She needn't, though--she needn't. But chut! It's nothing. Writing a letter is nothing to her at all. Why, she'd be knocking that off, bless you,” holding out a half sheet of paper, “in less than an hour and a half. Truth enough, sir.” Then, looking at the letter again, “What's this, though? PN. They're always putting a P.N. at the bottom of a letter, Mr. Kelly. P.N.--_I was expecting to be home before, but I wouldn't get away for Uncle Joe taking me to the theaytres_. Ha, ha, ha! A mighty boy is Uncle Joe. But, Mr. Kelly, Mr. Kelly,” with a solemn look, “not a word of this to Cæsar?” The postman had been watching Pete out of the corners of his ferret eyes. “Do you know, Capt'n, what Black Tom is saying?” “What's that?” said Pete, with a sudden change of tone. “He's saying there _is_ no Uncle Joe.” “No Uncle Joe?” cried Pete, lifting voice and eyebrows together. The postman signified assent with a nod of his peak. “Well, that's rich,” said Pete, in a low breath, raising his face as if to invoke the astonishment of the sky itself. “No Uncle Joe?” he repeated, in a tone of blank incredulity. “Ask the man if it's in bed he is. Why,” and Pete's eyes opened and closed like a doll's, “he'll be saying there's no Auntie Joney next.” The postman looked up inquiringly. “Never heard of Auntie Joney--Uncle Joe's wife? No? Well, really, really--is it sleeping I am? Not Auntie Joney, the Primitive? Aw, a good ould woman as ever lived. A saint, if ever the like was in, and died a triumphant death, too. No theaytres for her, though. She won't bemane herself. No, but she's going to chapel reg'lar, and getting up in the middle of every night of life to say her prayers. 'Deed she is. So Black Tom says there is no Uncle Joe?” Pete gave a long whistle, then stopped it sudden with his mouth agape, and said from his throat, “I see.” He put his mouth close to the postman's ear and whispered, “Ever hear Black Tom talk of the fortune he's expecting through the Coort of Chancery?” The postman's peak bobbed downwards. “You have? Tom's thinking to grab it all for himself. Ha, ha! That's it! Ha, ha!”