“Mommy!” exclaimed the girl. “Is—am I as pretty as that?”
“’T is vastly flattered,” said her mother, quickly. “I should scarce know it.”
“Nay, Matilda,” dissented the squire, who was now also gazing at the miniature. “’T is a good phiz of our lass, and but does her justice. Who ever sent it ye, Jan?”
“I suppose ’t was Mr. Evatt,” confessed Janice.
“Let’s have sight of the wrapper,” said the father. “Nay, Jan. This has been in no post-rider’s bag or ’t would bear the marks.”
“Peg, tell Charles to come here,” ordered Mrs. Meredith, and after a five minutes spent by the group in various surmises, the bond-servant, followed by the still attentive Peg, entered the room.
“Didst find this letter at the tavern?” demanded the squire.
The groom looked at the wrapper held out to him, and replied, “Mayhaps.”
“And what took ye there against my orders?”
Charles shrugged his shoulders, and then smiled. “Ask Hennion,” he said.