"Talkin' o' letters," said Rebecca, suddenly, "I wish'd you take one
down to the Post-Office fer me, Phoebe." She rose and went to a drawer
in the dressing-table. "Here's one 't I wrote to Cousin Jane in Keene. I
thought she might be worried about where we'd got to, an' so I've
written an' told her we're in London."

"The Post-Office--" Phoebe began, laughingly. Then she checked
herself. Why undeceive her sister? Here was the excuse she had been
seeking.

"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 attract