and bowing deeply, rode off in the direction Fanny had taken.

This was certainly a day of arrivals at Old Fields. Usually weeks would
pass without any one passing to or from the cottage, except Marian,
whose cheerful, kindly, social disposition, was the sole connecting link
between the cottage and the neighborhood around it. But this day seemed
to be an exception.

While yet the little party lingered at the breakfast-table, Edith looked
up, and saw the tall, thin figure of a woman in a nankeen riding-shirt,
and a nankeen corded sun-bonnet, in the act of dismounting from her
great, raw-boned white horse,

"If there isn't Miss Nancy Skamp!" exclaimed Edith, in no very
hospitable tone--"and I wonder how she can leave the post-office."

"Oh! this is not mail day!" replied Marian, laughing, "notwithstanding
which we shall have news enough." And Marian who, for her part, was
really glad to see the old lady, arose to meet and welcome her.

Miss Nancy was little changed; the small, tall, thin, narrow-chested,
stooping figure--the same long, fair, freckled, sharp set face--the
same prim cap, and clean, scant, faded gown, or one of the same
sort--made up her personal individuality. Miss Nancy now had charge of
the village post-office; and her early and accurate information
respecting all neighborhood affairs, was obtained, it was whispered, by
an official breach of trust; if so, however, no creature except Miss
Nancy, her black boy, and her white cat, knew it. She was a great news
carrier, it is true, yet she was not especially addicted to scandal. To
her, news was news, whether good or bad, and so she took almost as much