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But the post-office was dumb; no letter came from Daniel Robson. Philip heard, it is true, from his employers pretty frequently on business; and he felt sure they would have named it, if any ill had befallen his uncle's family, for they knew of the relationship and of his intimacy there.
A gentleman of the place, whose education had been defective, was in the habit of calling two or three times a day at the post-office, and ostentatiously inquiring for letters. At last he received a letter, which, being unable to read himself, he got the postmaster to read for him before a large circle of friends.
Beyond the post-office he turned toward the red-brick house that sat above the mill-pond. Eagerly he looked for the old mill, and he stopped in physical pain. The dam had been torn away, the old wheel was gone and a caved-in roof and supporting walls, drunkenly aslant, were the only remnants left. A red-haired child stood at the gate before the red-brick house and Hale asked her a question.
I had intended avoiding the post-office altogether. But I crossed to the platform. "Say, Ros," he asked eagerly, "what's this about you and Mr. Colton?" I was annoyed. "What do you mean?" I asked. "Why, you know, don't you? He come to see you and you went to see him over to his house. You had a reg'lar argument, I understand. About the Shore Lane, wan't it?" "Who told you that?"
After some time the twenty-five stepped forward, but having heard for what they were wanted, eighteen declined to go. A British coachman just turned up offers to carry letters through seems a sharp plucky fellow. I shall employ him as soon as the Post-office is definitely closed. British coachman does not think much of the citizen soldiers in Paris.
There are, of course, several things which might be improved in the administration of the post-office, as is the case in every country, without bringing Spain and her colonies in question; but, no doubt, these will be found out by-and-by, and an alteration for the better will take place.
If you know the post-office you must have seen Ethan Frome drive up to it, drop the reins on his hollow-backed bay and drag himself across the brick pavement to the white colonnade: and you must have asked who he was. It was there that, several years ago, I saw him for the first time; and the sight pulled me up sharp.
"You ought to know better," she said, "than to come asking for such things here! Taking up a lot of time like that." "You don't keep them?" Miss Mills uttered a small sound. Miss Jamieson tittered. "Shops are the proper places for writing-paper. This is a post-office." Words cannot picture the superb high breeding shown in this utterance.
But I paid no attention to her, and having sealed my letter, put on my hat, and walked out to the post-office. I dropped it into the box, and, on returning, found Mr Culpepper coming home, accompanied by Bob Cross, the captain's coxswain, and two of the boat's crew. As I presumed, they were sent for me; I joined them immediately, and was kindly greeted by Bob Cross, who said:
"He told me to send my letters to the post-office, Dorking," answered the Captain, "which really looks as if the aunt's residence were something in the way of an almshouse." No more was said about Valentine's departure. "There's something queer in this young man running away from town; there's some mystification somewhere," he thought.
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