“Why didn’t you tell me you came from the squire?” said the postmaster.  “Here’s a letter for him.  Elevenpence postage.”

“Elevenpence postage!” Andy cried.  “Didn’t I see you give that man a letther for fourpence, and a bigger letther than this?  Do you think I’m a fool?”

“No,” said the postmaster; “I’m sure of it.”

He walked off to serve another customer, and Andy meditated.  His master wanted the letter badly, so he would have to pay the exorbitant price.  He snatched two other letters from the heap on the counter while the postmaster’s back was turned, paid the elevenpence, received the epistle to which he was entitled, and rode home triumphant.

“Look at that!” he exclaimed, slapping the three letters down under his broad fist on the table before the astonished squire.  “He made me pay elevenpence, by gor!  But I’ve brought your honour the worth of your money, anyhow.”

“Well, by the powers!” said the squire, as Andy stalked out of the room with an air of supreme triumph.  “That’s the most extraordinary genius I ever came across!”

He read the letter for which he had been anxiously waiting.  It was from his lawyer about the forthcoming election.  In it he was warned to beware of his friend O’Grady, who was selling his interest to the government candidate.

“So that’s the work O’Grady’s at!” exclaimed the squire angrily.  “Foul, foul!  And after all the money I lent him, too!”

He threw down the letter, and his eye caught the other two that Andy had stolen.

“More of that mad fool’s work!  Robbing the mail now.  That’s a hanging job.  I’d better send them to the parties to whom they’re addressed.”

Picking up one of the epistles, he found it was a government letter directed to his new enemy, O’Grady.  “All’s fair in war,” thought the squire, and pinching the letter until it gaped, he peeped in and read:  “As you very properly remark, poor Egan is a spoon—­a mere spoon.”  “Am I a spoon, your villain!” roared the squire, tearing the letter and throwing it into the fire.  “I’m a spoon you’ll sup sorrow with yet!”

“Get out a writ on O’Grady for all the money he owes me,” he wrote to his lawyer.  “Send me the blister, and I’ll slap it on him.”

Unfortunately, he sent Andy with this letter; still more unfortunately, Mrs. Egan also gave the simple fellow a prescription to be made up at the chemist’s.  Andy surpassed himself on this occasion.  He called at the chemist’s on his way back from the lawyer’s, and carefully laid the sealed envelope containing the writ on the counter, while he was getting the medicine.  On leaving, he took up a different envelope.

“My dear Squire,” ran the letter Andy brought back, “I send you the blister for O’Grady, as you insist on it; but I don’t think you will find it easy to serve him with it.—­Your obedient, MURTOUGH MURPHY.”