gs since my poor wife's
death I often find time to think of you, Mr Nanjivell; bein' both of
us lame of the right leg as it happens. Hows'ever 'tisn' no news o'
riches for 'ee to-day, sorry as I be to say it: for the postmark's
'Polpier.'"

He tendered the letter. Nicky-Nan stretched out a hand, but drew it
back on a sudden suspicion.

"No," he said. "You may take an' keep it. 'Tis a trick, I doubt."

"You can't mean that, surely?" Lippity-Libby eyed the letter almost
greedily, holding it between finger and thumb. "Of course, if I
thought you meant it--I don't remember gettin' more 'n three letters
in all my life; that's if you don't count the trade they send me at
election times, tellin' me where to put my cross. Three letters all
told, and one o' they was after my poor Sarah died, threatenin' me
about the rates, that had slipped out o' my head, she bein' in the
habit of payin' them when alive. The amount o' fault she'd find in
'em, too, an' the pleasure she'd take in it, you'd never believe.
I've often thought how funny she must be feelin' it up there--the
good soul--with everything of the best in lighting an' water, an' no
rates at all--or that's how _I_ read the last chapter o' Revelations.
. . . Yes, only three letters of my own, that have handed so many to
other people, with births, marriages, an' deaths, shipwrecks an'
legacies an' lovin' letters from every port in the world.
Telegrams too--I'd dearly like to get a telegram of my own. . . .
But Government be a terrible stickler. You may call it red tape, if
you will: but if Mrs Pengelly caught me holdin' back any person's
letter, even though I knowed it held trouble for 'en, she'd be bound
to report me, poor soul, an' then like enough I'd lose place an'
livelihood. So I thank 'ee, naybour, for bein' so forward to give me
a bit o' pleasure; but 'twon't do--no, by the Powers Above it won't."
He shook his head sadly. Then of a sudden his eye brightened.
"I tell 'ee what, though. There's no rule of His Majesty's Service
why I shouldn' stand by while you reads it aloud."

"No, no," said Nicky-Nan hastily. "Here, hold hard a moment--Is it
in Pamphlett's hand-writin' by any chance?"

The question wounded Lippity-Libby's feelings, and he showed it.
"As if I shouldn' ha' told you!" he protested, gently reproachful.

"Nor his clerk's?"

"What, Hendy?--Hendy makes all his long letters straight up an' down,
while these be made with loops. The writin's s