The events of the day had produced a remarkable impression on the facial aspect of the charcoal-burning Fairley.

Extraordinary processes of thought, indicated by repeated rubbing of his forehead, had produced a high light in the middle and a corresponding deepening of shadow at the sides, until it bore the appearance of a perfect sphere.

It was this forehead that confronted Flip reproachfully as became a deceived comrade, menacingly as became an outraged parent in the presence of a third party and--a Postmaster.
"Fine doin's this, yer receivin' clandecent bundles and letters, eh ?" he began.

Flip sent one swift, withering look of contempt at the Postmaster, who at once becoming invertebrate and groveling, mumbled that he must "get on" to the Crossing, and rose to go.

But the old man, who had counted on his presence for moral support, and was clearly beginning to hate him for precipitating this scene with his daughter, whom he feared, violently protested.
"Sit down, can't ye?
Don't you see you're a witness ?" he screamed hysterically.
It was a fatal suggestion.