, and I will tell you. You know that for some
time now it has been Amos's place to unlock the post-bag of a morning
and give out the letters. The other day, however, he made a mistake,
and threw me two which were really directed to him. I gave them back to
him, and I saw him turn red when he saw the mistake he had made. I
couldn't help noticing the post-mark at the time, and I thought I knew
the handwriting on one of the envelopes. The post-mark was the same on
each. I am sure now that one was directed by my sister; I know her
handwriting well, for I have two little hymns in my desk which she wrote
out for me before--before she left us, and I often look at them. And
so, putting two and two together, I believe the other was most likely
directed by the person in whose house she is living."

"And what was the post-mark?"

"Ah, auntie, I don't think I ought to tell, not even you. It seems like
a breach of confidence towards Amos, though it really is not. At any
rate, I am not sure that he would like me to tell."

"Quite right, my dear Walter; I had no idle curiosity in asking; and if
Amos wishes it still to be a secret, of course you ought not to disclose
it."

"Thank you, auntie, for looking at it in that light. Now it can be no
breach of confidence on my part to go over to that place from which the
letters came, as shown by the post-mark, and just keep my eyes and ears
open, and see if I can get within sight or hearing of Amos without
making myself known. I would not intrude myself into my poor sister's
house if I can find it out, but I would just keep a bit of a watch near
it, and look if I can see anything of that miserable man who has given
us so much trouble; and then I might be able to give him a little of my
mind, so as to induce him to take himself clean off out of the country.
At any rate, I would watch over Amos, that no harm should come to him.
What do you think?"

"Well, dear boy," replied his aunt, "it is very generous of you to make
such a proposal, and good might come out of your plan; but what will
your father say to it?"

"Ah, that's the point, auntie. I must get you to persuade him to let me
go. Tell him how it is--tell him I'll be as prudent as a policeman, or
a stationmaster, or any one else that's particularly prudent, or ought
to be; and, if I don't find Amos where I imagine he will be, I'll be
back again before bed-time to-morrow."

Miss Huntingdon spoke to her brother, and put W