"Why do you keep him, grandpa, if he don't behave right?" Fleda ventured to ask gently.
"'Cause I can't get rid of him, dear," Mr. Ringgan answered rather shortly.
And till they got to the post-office he seemed in a disagreeable kind of muse, which Fleda did not choose to break in upon. So the mile and a half was driven in sober silence.
"Shall I get out and go in, grandpa?" said Fleda when he drew up before the house.
"No, deary," said he in his usual kind tone; "you sit still. Holloa there!--Good-day, Mr. Sampion--have you got any thing for me?" The man disappeared and came out again.
"There's your paper, grandpa," said Fleda.
"Ay, and something else," said Mr. Ringgan: "I declare!--Miss Fleda Ringgan--care of E. Ringgan, Esq.'--There, dear, there it is."
"Paris!" exclaimed Fleda, as she clasped the letter and both her hands together. The butternuts and Mr Didenhover were