“Dear me—­and did he tell you he had been deliverin’ letters here?”

“No—­he was on his round, and we took it for granted.  Besides, we know they were posted in time.”

“William Skin takes the letters some days,” suggested Dinah, “if he happens to overtake the post on his way back with the cart.  It saves the man a climb up the hill.”

“I wonder—­” mused Mrs Bosenna.

“Where is he?” Cai’s bewildered brain darted at the impossible stratagem of intercepting Skin and getting the letters from him.

“Stabling the pony at this moment, I expect. . . .  But I don’t understand.  What letters are you talkin’ about?  What sort of letters?”

“There—­there was one from me and one from ’Bias—­”

“Goodness!” she broke in, smiling pleasantly, “What, another invitation?”

“Well—­” began Cai.

“Yes,” struck in ’Bias.

“You might call it an invitation, o’ sorts,” Cai conceded.

“’Course you might,” said ’Bias positively.

“You are very mysterious this morning, you two.”  The widow turned from one to another, her smile still hiding her amusement.  “But let me guess.  It appears you both wished to send me an invitation, and something has gone amiss with your letters.”

“We both sent the same one,” explained Cai, and blushed.  “That’s the long and short of it, ma’am.”

“It doesn’t seem so very dreadful.”  Mrs Bosenna’s smile was sweetly reassuring.  “You both wrote, when it was only necessary for one to write?”

“That’s what I kept tellin’ him, ma’am,” put in ’Bias stoutly.  “But he would put his oar in.”

“Well, well. . .  You both wished to give me pleasure, and each wrote without the other’s knowledge—­”

“No, we didn’t,” interrupted ’Bias again.

“Anyway,” she harked back with a patient little sigh, “you had both planned your invitation to give me pleasure; and since it was the same—?” She paused on a note of interrogation.

“You might call it the same, ma’am—­after a fashion,” assented Cai.

She laughed.  “Do you know,” she said, “I forgot for a moment what friends you are; and it did cross my mind that maybe there were two invitations, and they clashed.”

“But they do, ma’am!” groaned Cai.

“Eh?  Yet you said just now. . . .  So there are two, after all!”

“It’s—­it’s this way, ma’am:  the letters are the same, but the invitation as you call it—­” Here Cai paused and cast an irritable glance in the direction of Dinah, who had stepped to the door of the oven to conceal her mirth.  If the woman would but go he might be able to explain.  “But the invitation don’t apply similarly, not in both cases.”

“That’s queer, isn’t it?” commented Mrs Bosenna.  “And, supposin’ I accept, to which of you must I write?”

“Me,” said ’Bias with great promptitude.