“That’s jes’ what I’ve been thinkin’ mesilf,” said Molly.  “I don’t see no signs of money bein’ spint on this place nather for one thing or anuther.”

“You don’t always have to spend money to get craps,” said Mike; “look at our corn and pertaters.  They is fust rate, and when we sends our craps to market, there won’t be much to take for ’spenses out of what we git.”

“Craps!” said Molly, with a sneer.  “If you hauls your weeds to market, it’ll take more wagons than you can hire in this country, and thim’s the only craps my oi has lit on yit.”

This made Mike angry.  He was, in general, a good-natured man, but he had a high opinion of himself as a farm manager, and on this point his feelings were very sensitive.  As was usual with him when he lost his temper, he got up without a word and went out.

“Bedad!” said Molly, looking about her, “I wouldn’t have sid that to him if I’d seed there wasn’t no kindlin’ sphlit.”

As Mike walked toward his own house, he was surprised to see, entering a little-used gateway near the barn, a horse and carriage.  It was now so dark he could not see who occupied it, and he stood wondering why it should enter that gateway, instead of coming by the main entrance.  As he stood there, the equipage came slowly on, and presently stopped in front of his little house.  By the time he reached it, Phoebe, his wife, had alighted, and was waiting for him.

“Reckon you is surprised to see me,” said she, and then turning to the negro man who drove the shabby hired vehicle, she told him that he might go over to the barn and tie his horse, for she would not be ready to go back for some time.  She then entered the house with Mike, and, a candle having been lighted, she explained her unexpected appearance.  She had met Miss Dora Bannister, and that young lady had engaged her to go to Cobhurst and take a note to Miss Miriam.

“She tole me,” said Phoebe, “that she had wrote two times already to Miss Miriam, and then, havin’ suspected somethin’, had gone to the pos’-office and found they was still dar.  Don’t your boss ever sen’ to the pos’-office, Mike?”

“He went hisself every now an’ then, till the gig was broke,” said Mike, “but I don’t believe he ever got nuthin’, and I reckon they thought it was no use botherin’ about sendin’ me, special, in the wagon.”

“Well, they’re uncommon queer folks,” said Phoebe.  “I reckon they’ve got nobody to write to, or git letters from.  Anyway, Miss Dora wanted her letter to git here, and so she says to me that if I’d take it, she’d pay the hire of a hack, and so, as I wanted to see you anyway, Mike, I ’greed quick enough.”

Before delivering the letter with which she had been entrusted, Phoebe proceeded to attend to some personal business, which was to ask her husband to lend her five dollars.

“Bless my soul,” said Mike, “I ain’t got no five dollars.  I ain’t asked for no wages yit, and don’t expect to, till the craps is sold.”