"There goes the gate!" cried Nellie. "It's sure to be Bessie. If you don't want to be seen here—run!" she laughed.
"I do not stir for Elizabeth Mudge."
"Or budge for any man," sang teasing Nellie. Then her note changed, for the postmistress appeared from behind the rhododendrons.
"Why, it's Mrs. Cann! And she's got a telegram!"
"Vor you, Miss Blisland. Very bad news, miss. Terrible news. But she wur an old lady, and 'tis better to be took avore you knows where you be than to see it coming. I hopes and prays as how I'll be took the like way—selling a penny stamp, or licking a label, or doing some poor soul a gude turn by giving her an old-age pension."
She went rambling on, while Nellie tore open the telegram and read, "Mistress passed away in her sleep. Kezia."
She shivered slightly, then handed it to George.
"Cruel bad news vor you, sir, especially as we'm all so sorry to hear you be a leaving us," said the postmistress.
"I had meant to go away," replied the self-sacrificing and sorrowful reprobate. "But I'm afraid I shall have to change my plans now."