as passages go. But by feeding him with a suggestion or two, as men
feed a pump with a little water to make it work, by and by she found
herself listening to information in a flood. Now and then she interposed
a question, asking mainly about his wife and the home at Yarmouth.
She had picked up her pen again, and he, absorbed in his confidences, did
not perceive at what a rate she was making it travel over the paper.

The door opened, and Mr. Benny reappeared with a shawl on his arm.
He glanced around nervously. "Mr. Salt, Mr. Salt! I put it to you, this
isn't quite fair. A fine talk I can hear you're having; but our friends
outside are getting impatient, and want to know when you'll let Miss
Marvin begin."

"All right, boss. I've had a yarn here that's worth all the money.
Here's your shilling for it, and the letter can stand over till
to-morrow."

"But I've written it!" Hester exclaimed.

"Written it!" Mr. Salt's jaw dropped in amazement.

"I don't know if it will do. Shall I read it over?"

"Well, but this beats conjuring!" The reading ended, Mr. Salt slapped his
massive thigh.

"You have done very well, my dear," said Mr. Benny; "very well indeed.
You have caught, as I might say, the note. Now I myself have great
difficulty in being literary and at the same time catching the note."

There was something in the little man's confession--so modest, so generous
withal--which drew tears to her eyes, though her own elation may have had
some share in them.

"Though there's one thing she've forgotten," said Mr. Salt, with a
twinkle. "My poor Sarah will get shock enough over this letter as 'tis;
but she'll get a worse one if we leave out the money order."

The order having been made out in form, ready for him to take to the post
office, Mr. Salt bade farewell. They could hear him extolling, on his way
through the outer office, the talent of the operator within.

"I feel like a dentist!" whispered Hester, turning to Mr. Benny with a
smile. The little man was looking at her wistfully.

"Shall I call in the next?" he asked. "I am afraid, my dear, you are
finding this a longer job than you bargained for."

"But I am enjoying it," she protested. "That is, if--Mr. Benny, you are
not annoyed by his foolish praises?"

"My dear," he answered gravely, "they say that all literary persons are
jealous. If I were jealous it would not be because Mr. Salt praised you,
but because my own sense tells me that you d