Mrs Bosenna, if she heard, did not seem to hear. She was holding up both letters in turn, staring from the one to the other incredulously. Her roseal colour came and went.
"Them and their parrots! I'll teach 'em!"
Before Dinah could ask what was the matter, a bell sounded. It was the front door bell, which rang just within the porch.
Dinah smoothed her apron and bustled forth. It had always been her grievance—and her mistress shared it—against the nameless architect of Rilla farmstead, that he had made its long kitchen window face upon the strawyard, whereas a sensible man would have designed it to command the front door in flank, with its approaches. This mistake of his cost Dinah a circuit by way of the apple-room every time she answered the porch bell; for as little as any porter of old in a border fortress would she have dreamed of admitting a visitor without first making reconnaissance.
A minute later she ran back and thrust her head in at the kitchen-door.
"Mistress," she whispered excitedly, "it's them!"
"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs Bosenna, as the bell jangled again. "They seem in a hurry, too." She smiled, and the smile, if the curve of her mouth forbade it to be grim, at any rate expressed decision. She picked up the two letters and slipped them into her pocket. "You can show them in."
"Where, mistress?"
"Here. And, Dinah, nothing about the post, mind! Now, run!"