yourself not to keep the King's postman waitin', or you'll make it up
afterwards in the shape of a Christmas-box. . . . I ought in fairness
to tell you," Lippity-Libby added, "that there _is_ a third way--
though I hate the sight of it--and that's a letter-box with a slit in
the door. Parson Steele has one. When I asked en why, he laughed
an' talked foolish, an' said he'd put it up in self-defence. Now,
what sort o' defence can a letter-box be to any man's house?
And that was six months afore the War, too!"

"Another letter for me?" Nicky-Nan hobbled forward, blinking against
the sunlight.

"'Ho-Haitch-Hem-Hess'--that means 'On His Majesty Service';
post-mark, Troy. . . . Hullo!--anything wrong wi' the house?"

"Eh?"

"Plasterin' job?"

Nicky-Nan understood. "What's that to you?" he asked curtly.

"I don' know how it should happen," mused Lippity-Libby after a pause
of dejection; "but the gettin' of letters seems to turn folks
suspicious-like all of a sudden. You'd be surprised the number that
puts me the very question you've just asked. An' they tell me that
'tis with money the same as with letters. I read a tract one time,
about a man that found hisself rich of a sudden, and instead o'
callin' his naybours together an' sayin' 'Rejoice with me,' what d'ye
think he went an' did?"