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Just about seven o'clock next morning Nicky-Nan, who had breakfasted early and taken post early in the porchway to watch against any possible ruse of the foe for, Bank Holiday or no Bank Holiday, he was taking no risks spied Lippity-Libby the postman coming over the bridge towards him with his dot-and-go-one gait. Lippity-Libby, drawing near, held out a letter in his hand and flourished it.
"If you're hidin' something behind this clack, I'll trouble you to out with it." "If you don't want the story, you shan't have it," said Lippity-Libby, aggrieved.
"Oh, hateful! Who could be so wicked?" "I met Lippity-Libby at the gate this morning. 'Look here, I said; 'this is a pretty poison you are sowing on your rounds': and I showed him the feathers which young Obed had left with me.
"Why should Lippity-Libby want a clack with him? . . . Just for gossip's sake? or to convey a warning?" Lippity-Libby knew, or averred that he knew, the author of yesterday's anonymous letter. . . . "Tell him I'll be out in a moment!"
The words "Naval Reservist" underlined gave him a tremor. But it was too late to draw back. He broke open the envelope, drew forth the letter, unfolded it, and ran his eye hurriedly overleaf, seeking the signature. "Why, 'tisn' signed!" "Not signed?" echoed Lippity-Libby. "That's as much as to say 'nonymous." Suddenly he slapped his thigh. "There now! O' course why, what a forgetful head is mine!
Nicky-Nan turned about and stared at the placard as Lippity-Libby smoothed it over the paste, whistling. At that moment Un' Benny Rowett, hands in trouser-pockets, came dandering along. He, too, taking the geniality of every one for granted, halted, spread his legs wide and conned the announcement. "Oh!" said he after a pause, wheeling about. "Still harpin' on they Germans?
That's calkilated to make a man think. . . . But I must say," said Lippity-Libby, eyeing the sky aloft, "the glass is goin' up stiddy, an' that's always a comfort." As the old man took his departure, Nicky-Nan broke the seal of his letter, opened it, and read To Nicholas Nanjivell, R.N.R., Polpier. Troy, August 3rd, 1914.
So Nicky-Nan contented himself with closing the door carefully and hasping it. "If," began Lippity-Libby, "you go on gettin' letters at the rate o' one a day, there's only two ways to it.
She said it so quietly and decisively, standing motionless, that Lippity-Libby, coming around the corner of the lane with paste-pot and brush, and with a roll of bills tucked in his armpit, mistook the group for a chance collection of cheerful gossips.
'Tis a trick, I doubt." "You can't mean that, surely?" Lippity-Libby eyed the letter almost greedily, holding it between finger and thumb. "Of course, if I thought you meant it I don't remember gettin' more 'n three letters in all my life; that's if you don't count the trade they send me at election times, tellin' me where to put my cross.