VI
Caleb’s eyes followed the heaving mail-bag.
“Bundock’s buoy-oy fares to be jolly this mornin’.”
“He does be lively sometimes,” agreed Martha.
Suddenly Caleb became aware of the letter in his hand.
“Dash my buttons, Martha! We disremembered to ask him to read it.”
It can no longer be concealed that despite her erudition Martha could not read writing nor write save by imitating print. The cursive alphabet was Phœnician to her.
“I didn’t forget,” she answered with her masterly calm. “Bundock’s too leaky. You heard him tell all the gossip and scandal. And it ain’t true about Jinny, for Master Peartree saw them riding in the other Sunday and Farmer Gale’s little boy sat between them. Besides, Bundock’s a man, and I don’t want a man to read my letter from Caroline.”
The point seemed arguable, but Caleb meekly suggested the little boy she had just mentioned—only a mile and a half away. He would be at school, Martha pointed out.
Caleb looked at the letter as a knifeless cook at an oyster.