"What do you know?" said Reuben,—"where did you get these? Oh Phil! I never can thank you enough!"
"It was because they were his letters I did it," said Phil bluntly. "I wasn't going to let Mintie Tuck have 'em. But I say, Reuben! what have you done to spite her? or has she a spite against Mr. Linden? or who has she a spite against?"
"I don't know. Did she give 'em to you, Phil?"
"Not by a precious sight nor to anybody else. Dromy saw 'em in her drawer, and for all the gumph he is, he knew the writing; and I made him get 'em for me this morning while they were at breakfast. Now Taylor," said Phil settling his hands further down in his pockets as they rapidly walked along,—"what bird's on that nest?"
Reuben listened—with an intentness that spoke of more than wonder. "In her drawer?" he repeated,—"what, down in the office?"
"Not a bit of it! Stowed away with her earrings and ribbands upstairs somewhere."
"Phil," said Reuben when he had pondered this strange information in silence for a minute, "will you be in the office when the mail comes in for a night or two?—and don't tell this to any one till Mr. Linden sends word what should be done."
"You expect more letters?" said Phil, with a not stupid glance at his fellow.
"Yes," Reuben said, too frankly to increase suspicion; "and if one should come it's very important that I should get it. And of course I can't watch."
"She sha'n't get it!" said Phil. "I'll be there. I'll be Sinbad's old man of the mountain for Mintie. I won't sit on her shoulders, but I'll sit on the counter; and if there's a scratch of Mr. Linden's in the mail-bag, I'll engage I'll see it as fast as she will. I know his seal too."