playin' me some trick?"

"A man of your descent," said Lippity-Libby, "can't help havin'
relatives in great quantities dispersed about the world. I've
figured it out, and the sum works like that old 'un we used to do on
our slates about a horse-shoe. Your great-grandfather married your
great-grandmother, and that set the ball rollin'--to go no farther
back than the head will carry. Six sons an' daughters they had, for
the sake of argyment, and each married and had six again.
Why, damme, by that time there's not a quarter in Europe where a rich
chap deceased mayn't be croppin' up and leavin' you his money, for no
better reason than that you're a Nanjivell. That always seemed to me
one of the advantages of good birth. For my part," the postman
continued, "my father and mother never spoke of such matters, though
she was a Collins and married in Lanteglos parish, where I daresay
the whole pedigary could be looked up, if one wasn't a postman and
could spare the time. But in the long evenings since my poor wife's
death I often find time to think of you, Mr Nanjivell; bein' both of
us lame of the right leg as it happens. Hows'ever 'tisn' no news o'
riches for 'ee to-day, sorry as I be to say it: for the postmark's
'Polpier.'"

He tendered the letter. Nicky-Nan stretched out a hand, but drew it
back on a sudden suspicion.

"No," he said. "You may take an' keep it. '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