"Witness," repeated Flip, scornfully.
"Yes, a witness! He gave ye letters and bundles." "Weren't they directed to me ?" asked Flip.
"Yes," said the Postmaster, hesitatingly; "in course, yes." "Do _you_ lay claim to them ?" she said, turning to her father.
"No," responded the old man.
"Do you ?" sharply, to the Postmaster.
"No," he replied.
"Then," said Flip, coolly, "if you're not claimin' 'em for yourself, and 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 nothing 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 getting 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.