racter, I hope to gracious you'm
goin' to keep it up. An' twenty-five pound' is a heap o' money for
such a man as you."

"It is," the wanderer asserted. "Ay, I feel that."

At twenty minutes to five that evening, Long Oliver pulled up again by
the green garden-gate. William Geake from his workshop had caught the
sound of the mare's hoofs three minutes before, and awaited him.

"One, two, three, four, five." The notes were counted out
deliberately. Long Oliver, having been thanked, gathered up his reins
and suddenly set them down again.

"Dear me," said he, "if I hadn' almost forgot! I've a letter for 'ee,
too."

"Eh?"

"Iss. A kind of a sailor-like lookin' chap came up to me i' the Half
Moon yard as I was a takin' out the mare. 'Do you come from Gantick?'
says he, seein' no doubt Farmer Lear's name 'pon the cart. 'There or
thereabouts,' says I. 'Know Mister W. Geake?' says he. 'Well,' says
I. 'Then, if you're passin', I wish you'd give 'en this here letter,'
says he, an' that's all 'e said."

"I wonder who 'twas," said Geake. But his face was white.

"Don't know 'en by sight. Said 'e was in a great hurry for to catch
the up train. Which puts me i' mind I must be movin' on. Good-night
t'ye, neighbour!"

As soon as he had turned the corner, Geake opened the letter.

* * * * *

When Naomi returned, half-an-hour later, she found him standing at the
gate as if he had spent the day there: as, indeed, he might have, for
all the work done to the coffin.

"I must bide up to-night an' finish that job," he said, when they were
indoors and she began asking how in the world he had been spending his
time. "I've been worryin' mysel' all day."

"It's those sermons agen," Naomi decided. "They do your head no good,
an' I wish you'd give up preachin'."

"Now that's just what I'm goin' to do," he answered, pushing the
Bible far into the shelf till its edges knocked on the wood of the
skivet-drawer.

THE PRINCE OF ABYSSINIA'S POST-BAG.

I.--AN INTERRUPTION:

_From Algernon Dexter, writer of Vers de Societe, London, to Rasselas,
Prince of Abyssinia_.

My dear prince,--Our correspondence has dwindled of late. Indeed, I do
not remember to have heard from you since I wrote to acknowledge your
kindness in standing godfather to my boy Jack (now rising two), and
the receipt of the beautiful scimitar which, as a christening present,
accompanied your consent. Still I do not forget the