“Bob Smith’s daughter, sir,” he answered.
“No doubt. But, proceed.”
“Well, sir, she’s just a village girl. Her father is a blacksmith. His forge is along to the right, not far. She’ll be twenty, or thereabouts.”
“Frivolous?”
“Not more than the rest of ’em, sir.”
“Have you seen her flirting with Elkin?”
Robinson took thought.
“Now that I come to think of it, she might be given a bit that way. Her father shoes Elkin’s nags, so there’s a lot of comin’ an’ goin’ between the two places. But folks would always look on it as natural enough. Yes, I’ve seen ’em together more than once.”
“In that case, he can hardly grumble if the postmaster’s daughter has an eye for another young man.”
“Miss Martin!” snorted Robinson. “She wouldn’t look the side of the road he was on. Fred Elkin isn’t her sort.”