"Yes; an' I told her more'n that," Rebecca continued. "I told her that jest's soon as the Panchronicle hed got rested and got its breath, we'd set off quick fer home--you an' me. Thet's so, ain't it, Phoebe?" she concluded, with plaintive anxiety in her voice. "I'll take the letter right along," said Phoebe, with sudden determination. But Rebecca would not at once relax her hold on the envelope. "That's so, ain't it, dearie?" she insisted. "Won't we make fer home as soon's we can?" "Sis," said Phoebe, gravely, "an I be not deeply in error, thou art right. Now give me the letter." Rebecca relinquished the paper with a sigh of relief, then looked up in surprise at Phoebe, who was laughing aloud. "Why, here's a five-cent stamp, as I live!" she cried. "Where did it come from?" "I hed it in my satchel," said Rebecca. "Ain't that the right postage?" "Yes--yes," said Phoebe, still laughing. "And now for the Post-Office!" She donned her coif and high-crowned hat with silver braid, and leaned over Rebecca, who had seated herself, to give her a good-by kiss. "Great sakes!" exclaimed Rebecca, as she received the unaccustomed greeting. "You do look fer all the world like one o' the Salem witches in Peter Parley's history, Phoebe." With a light foot and a lighter heart for all its beating, Phoebe ran down the street unperceived from the house. "Bishopsgate!" she sang under her breath. "The missive named Bishopsgate. He'll meet me within the grove outside the city wall." Her feet seemed to know the way, which was not over long, and she arrived without mishap at the gate. Here she was amazed to see two elderly men, evidently merchants, for they were dressed much like her uncle the goldsmith, approach two gayly dressed gentlemen and, stopping them on the street, proceed to measure their swords and the width of their extravagant ruffs with two yardsticks. The four were so preoccupied with this ceremony that she slipped past them without attracting the disagreeable attention she might otherwise have received. As she passed, the beruffled gentlemen were laughing, and she heard one of them say: "God buy you, friends, our ruffs and bilbos have had careful measurement, I warrant you." "Right careful, in sooth," said one of those with the yardsticks. "They come within a hair's breadth of her Majesty's prohibition." Phoebe had scant time for wonder at this, for she saw in a grove not a hundred yards beyond the gate the trappings of a horse, and near by what seemed a human figure, motionless, under a tree. Making a circuit before entering the grove, she came up behind the waiting figure, far enough within the grove to be quite invisible from the highway. She hesitated for some time ere she felt certain that it was indeed Sir Guy who stood before her. He was dressed in the extreme of fashion, and she fancied that she could smell the perfumes he wore, as they were borne on the soft breeze blowing toward her.