"No. I haven't anything to do there."
"I heard papa say he wanted some postcards."
"Well, I've forgotten my purse, so I must get them to-morrow."
"Couldn't you put them down in the bill?"
"No. Post-offices don't give credit."
Effie hung lovingly on her companion's arm. They passed into the village street and, just as they made the turning, the thin, insignificant sound of a hunting horn came on the wind.
"There's the hounds," said Effie, and scarcely had she spoken the words than, topping the crest of the hill, came the scarlet-clad figures of the master and whips, the hounds, and after the hounds the hunt.
The fox had run to earth in Blankney woods, and they were going now to draw Fairholt's spinney.
"Come on," said Effie.
The child made a bolt across the road, and so swiftly that Miss Grimshaw had no time to follow. Hounds and horses blocked the road, but not so densely as to prevent her from seeing Effie run to the post-office letter-box and pop something in. When the press had gone by, and the road was clear, Miss Grimshaw crossed.