“Tuesdays and Saturdays, sir.”
“And what time does the mail go by?”
“Six o'clock in the morning, sir, at the cross-roads.”
“And they're three miles off, across the fields?”
“Thereabouts, sir. I reckons it about a forty minutes' stretch, and no time lost.”
“There'll be no more big fish caught on the fly to-day,” said Tom, after a minute's silence, as they neared the house.
The wind had fallen dead, and not a spot of cloud in the sky.
“Not afore nightfall, I think, sir;” and the keeper disappeared towards the offices.