"I don't know, grandpa," said Fleda; "I can't see yes, I do see yes, they are, grandpa; I see the mark."
"I thought so!" said Mr. Ringgan, bitterly; "I told Didenhover, only three days ago, that if he didn't make up that fence the sheep would be out, or Squire Thornton's would be in; only three days ago! Ah, well!" said he, shaking the reins to make the mare move on again, "it's all of a piece. Everything goes I can't help it."
"Why do you keep him, grandpa, if he don't behave right?"
Fleda ventured to ask, gently.
" 'Cause I can't get rid of him, dear," Mr. Ringgan answered, rather shortly.
And till they got to the post-office, he seemed in a disagreeable kind of muse, which Fleda did not choose to break in upon. So the mile and a half was driven in sober silence.
"Shall I get out and go in, grandpa?" said Fleda, when he drew up before the house.
"No, deary," said he, in his usual kind tone; "you sit still. Holloa, there! Good-day, Mr. Sampion have you got anything for me?"
The man disappeared and came out again.
"There's your paper, grandpa," said Fleda.
"Ay, and something else," said Mr. Ringgan: "I declare! 'Miss Fleda Ringgan care of E. Ringgan, Esq.' There, dear, there it is."