The revelry ceased for a moment.

There was the postmaster's boy, bearing a letter with several curious stamps on it.

Hanz was overjoyed.

He shook the boy's hand, and then scanned over the letter.
"God pless mine poor poy, Titus!" he exclaimed.

"He wrotes dat ledder.
Yes, he does; mine poor poy Titus does;" and he struck his hands on his knees, and laughed with joy.