Produced by Lionel Sear
Chap.
Thomas Dawson was busy in the kitchen trying to make the kettle boil,and to get the fire clear that he might do a piece of toast. He hadalready tidied up the grate and swept the floor, and as he stood bythe table with the loaf in his hand, about to cut a slice, his eyewandered down through the dewy, sunny garden, where every tree andbush was beginning to show a little film of green over its brownbranches.
But before he could notice anything in the garden, his attention wasattracted by the sight of Daniel Magor, the postman, standing at thegate and fumbling with the latch. Thomas dropped the loaf and theknife, and went out to meet him, leaving the house-door wide open tothe beautiful morning sunshine, which poured in in a wide streamright across the kitchen, lighting up with golden radiance theflowers in the window, the old-fashioned photographs on the wall, thechina on the dressers, and the cat lying asleep on the scarletcushion in the arm-chair by the fire.
When he saw Thomas coming the postman ceased fumbling with the latchand waited, holding two letters in his hand.
"Lovely weather, Mr. Dawson. You ain't to work this morning!" heremarked in a tone of surprise.
Thomas shook his head slowly. "No, my wife is bad, she've been badall night with a sick headache. She's better this morning, but Istayed home to get her some breakfast, and tidy up a bit.When anybody's sick they don't feel they want to do much."
"You'm right," agreed the postman feelingly. "I gets sick headachesvery bad myself, and when I wakes with one it seems to me I don'tcare whether folk gets their letters or not. I am glad I didn't feellike that this morning, Mr. Dawson, for it's good to be alive on sucha day, and I've got two letters for you."
"Both of 'em for me!" said Thomas in surprise, and holding out hishand to take them. "I don't think I've had two to once in my lifebefore."
The postman laughed. "If folks didn't get more than you do wepostmen would soon be out of a job, I reckon!" But Thomas was gazingat his letters with such a perplexed, preoccupied air, that he didnot reply, and Daniel, with a long, inquiring look at him, said"Good-morning," and went on his way.
"One is the seed-list," muttered Thomas to himself, as he retracedhis steps through the garden under the budding May-trees, "but itpasses my understanding to know who can have sent the other.It—it can't be from—from her," he added, with sudden thought,speaking as though it pained him even to put such a thought intowords.
The old cat, hearing his footsteps on the path, roused herself andwent out