Considerably astonished, thinking perhaps Ann Canham had a litter of puppies to show him—for, if Jim had a weakness for anything on earth, it was for those charming specimens of the animal world—he made his way through the gate. Ann had no puppies; nothing but a small note in her hand wafered and pressed with a thimble.
"Is the master anywhere about, Jim?"
"He's just gone into the barn now. The men be thrashing."
Ann paused a moment. Jim stared at her.
"Could you just do me a service, Jim?"
Jim, good-natured at all times, replied that he supposed he could if he tried. But he stared, still puzzled by this extraordinary behaviour on the part of quiet Ann Canham.
"I want this bit of a letter given to him," she said, pointing to what she held. "I want it given to him when he's by himself, so that it don't get seen. Could you manage it, Jim?"
"I dare say I could," replied Jim. "What is the letter? What's inside it?"
"It concerns Mr. Ryle," said Ann, after a perceptible hesitation. "Jim, if you'll do this faithful, I won't forget it. Watch your opportunity; and keep the letter inside your smock-frock, for fear anybody should see it."
"I'll do it," said Jim. He took the note from her, put it in his trousers pocket, and went back towards the barn whistling. Ann turned homewards, flying over the ground as if she were running a race.