you hear father say they ain't his, I reckon the less you have to say
about 'em the better."

"Thar's suthin' in that," said the old man, shamelessly abandoning the
Postmaster.

"Then why don't she say who sent 'em, and what they are like," said the
Postmaster, "if there's nothin' in it?"

"Yes," echoed Dad. "Flip, why don't you?"

Without answering the direct question, Flip turned upon her father.

"Maybe you forget how you used to row and tear round here because tramps
and such like came to the ranch for suthin', and I gave it to 'em? Maybe
you'll quit tearin' round and letting yourself be made a fool of now
by that man, just because one of those tramps gets up and sends us some
presents back in turn?"

"'Twasn't me, Flip," said the old man, deprecatingly, but glaring at the
astonished Postmaster. "Twasn't my doin'. I allus said if you cast your
bread on the waters it would come back to you by return mail. The fact
is, the Gov'ment is gettin' too high-handed! Some o' these bloated
officials had better climb down before next leckshen."

"Maybe," continued Flip to her father, without looking at her
discomfited visitor, "ye'd better find out whether one of those
officials comes up to this yer ranch to steal away a gal about my own
size, or to get points about diamond-making. I reckon he don't travel
round to find out who writes all the letters that go through the Post