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Tracy, Louis, 1863-1928

"The Postmaster's Daughter"

Being a non-interfering, self-contained
man, he seemed to be rather irresolute. But that condition passed
quickly. Leaning over the counter, he secured a hat and a pair of
field-glasses, and went out. He, too, knew of Mrs. Jefferson's weakness
for shopping in Knoleworth, and that good lady had gone there again. Her
train was due in ten minutes. A wicket gate led to a narrow passage
communicating with the back door of her residence. He entered boldly,
reached the garden, and hurried to the angle on the edge of the cliff
next to the Martins' strip of ground.
Yes, a spacious dinner-table was laid at The Hollies. Doris, Mr. Martin,
and Peters soon strolled out on to the lawn. The pedestrians had
obviously gone upstairs to wash after their tramp.
Mr. Siddle rather forgot himself. He stared so long and earnestly through
the field-glasses that he ran full tilt into Mrs. Jefferson and maid
before regaining the high-street. But the chemist was a ready man. He
lifted his hat with an inquiring smile.
"Didn't you say you wanted some anti-arthritic salts early in the
week?" he asked.
"Yes," said Mrs. Jefferson, "but I got some to-day in Knoleworth,
thank you.


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