“Not a mite, Scattergood.”

“Come through Bailey to-day?”

“Calculated to.”

“Any news?”

“Nary.”

“What’s become of that What’s-his-name baby you was a-tellin’ about?  The one that lost his ma and was bein’ cared for by neighbors?”

“Nothin’ hain’t become of him.  Calc’late he’ll be took to a institution.”

“Um!  Likely-lookin’ two-year-old, was he?  Take note of any blemishes?”

“I hear tell by them that knows as how he was sound in wind and limb.”

“Who’s keepin’ him, Pliny?”

“Mis’ Patterson’s sort of shuffled him in with her seven.  Says she don’t notice no difference to speak of.  Claims ’tain’t possible f’r eight childern to be no noisier ’n what seven be.”

“Um!...  G’-by, Pliny.  Ever deal in facts over there to the post office?  Ever have occasion to mention facts?”

“Er—­not reg’lar facts, Scattergood.  You needn’t to worry about my talkin’ too free.”

“Seems like a feller that talks as much as you do would have to mention a fact once in a while.  G’-by, Pliny.”

It was two or three days later that Postmaster Pratt alluded again to Martha and Jed Lewis.

“They’re gittin’ wuss and wuss,” he said, with some gratification.  “Last night they was a rumpus you could ‘a’ heard forty mile.  Ended up by him threatenin’ to leave her, and by her tellin’ him that if he didn’t she’d lock him out of the house.  Looks to me like that family fracas was about ripe to bust.”

“Signs all p’int that way, Will.  Too bad, hain’t it?  There’s a reason f’r it, I calculate.  Ever look f’r the reason, Will?  Ever think about it at all?”

“Hain’t had no time.  Post office keeps me thinkin’ night and day.”

“Well, I have.  Figgered a heap.”

“Any results, Scattergood?”

“Some—­some.”

“What be they?”

Scattergood’s eyes twinkled in the darkness.  “I got it all figgered out,” he said, “that them young folks needs a dose of soothin’ syrup.”

“I want to know,” said the postmaster, breathlessly and with bewilderment.  “Soothin’ syrup!  I swan to man!...  Hain’t been out in the heat, have you, Scattergood?”

Scattergood made no reply to this question.  He merely waggled his head and said:  “G’-by, Will.  G’-by.”

Next morning Scattergood walked past the Lewis place.  He passed it three times before he made up his mind whether to go in or not, but finally he turned through the gate and walked around to the kitchen door.  Inside he saw Martha ridding up the kitchen, not with a morning song on her lips, but wearing a sullen expression which sat ill on her fine New England face.

“Mornin’, Marthy,” he called.

She looked up and smiled suddenly.  The change in her face was astonishing.

“Mornin’, Mr. Baines.  Set right down on the porch. ...  Let me fetch you a hot cup of coffee.  ’Twon’t take but a minute to make.”