Mrs. Crocker sallied out with a batch of letters.  “Quite a lot, Captain.  Good-morning, Leila.”

“Mail these, Mrs. Crocker,” said the travellers fresh from fairyland.

“I saw some was from the Squire and some from Mrs. Penhallow—­Squire’s writing better.”

“You wicked Mrs. Crocker,” said John, “how much you pick up of folk’s secrets, I should like to know—­”

“Secrets!” laughed Leila.  “They can’t be read on the outside of letters.”

Then Mrs. Crocker on the sidewalk to them on horseback began to talk.  John seeing that Leila was interested and amused sat still and listened.

“Secrets,” exclaimed the post-mistress, “ain’t all inside of letters.  They’re on the envelopes sometimes.  Oh!  I’ve seen ’em in war time, letters that looked like they’d been out in the rain—­sort of blistered; and people here in those days just tore open their letters and laughed or cried.”  Mrs. Crocker caught her breath and paused.

“I know, John,” said Leila in a low aside.

“And there used to come back from the front letters marked ‘missing’ or ‘can’t be found.’  Folks used to come in gay and go away with a letter just crumpled up in a hand.  And now it’s all over—­and up you come right gallant and happy.  Here comes old Granny Lamb tottering along.  I’d invent a letter from that brute if I could.  I tell you, Leila, mother-hope dies hard.”

“It is sad—­dreadful.  Come, John.”

“One minute, please,” said Mrs. Crocker, “I’m not half done.  I tell you, Captain John, there’s a heap of human nature comin’ and goin’ through a post-office.  Well, good-bye.”

They rode away to Grey Pine exchanging bits from their letters.  Their uncle and aunt would be home in a week.  “Sooner—­if they get the letter I mailed last night,” laughed Leila.

“I should like to have seen it.”

“No doubt.”

At the open avenue gate Josiah was waiting.  He saluted in soldier fashion, Penhallow acknowledging the greeting in like manner.

Josiah said, “Wouldn’t you just let me have a minute with the Captain?”

Leila laughed.  “Certainly.”  She rode away wondering what Josiah had to report alone to the man who for him was and always would he Captain despite the old custom of the regular army.

“Well, Josiah—­nothing wrong, I trust.”

“No, sir—­everything just entirely right—­but first I got to ask your advice.  I’ve had a letter from the Colonel—­he just says some things ought to make a man kind of blush.”

John had the odd thought that a blush must be the securely private property of a fellow as black as this grey-headed old friend.  “What does he say, Josiah?”

“He wants to give me a farm.”

“Well, why not—­you have earned a dozen.”

“I’d like it—­but—­if you’re goin’ to marry Miss Leila, I’d rather live with you.”

“Good Heavens!” said the traveller out of fairyland, “what put that in your head?”