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Updated: June 23, 2025
He had a twinkling face, all circles and pouches, but it grew graver as he spoke to the postmistress. He was Major Atkins, formerly a famous cavalry officer, but since his retirement a cattle-man whose herds grazed to the pan-handle of Texas.
The boys were suspiciously quiet, then some one began to chant: "The devil examined the desert well, And made up his mind ’twas too dry for hell; He put up the prices his pockets to swell, And called it a—heal-th resort." The postmistress waited for the last note of the chorus to die away, and read from a package she held in her hand—"’Mrs.
He was always receiving through the mail envelopes marked "author's proofs," which, the postmistress said, indicated that he was an author, whatever proofs might be. She had an idea they might have something to do with photographs; perhaps his picture was going into a book.
Jarvis could not be brought to admit her stone-blindness and clung to the theory of somebody in London; but as Esther never went to London, and nobody from London came to her, and the postmistress swore no letters passed between London and the Sutton family, Mrs.
Having put her penny label on it, she handed it, with an open brow and an unembarrassed face, to the baker's wife, who was Her Majesty's postmistress at Greshamsbury; and, having so finished her work, she returned to see the table prepared for her uncle's dinner. "I will say nothing to him," said she to herself, "till I get the answer. He will not talk to me about it, so why should I trouble him?"
The letter that he took out of it was a strange jewel to repose in so rude a casket. It also was from Kuryong from Ellen Harriott, who had taken the precaution of addressing it in a feigned hand so that the postmaster and postmistress at Kiley's Crossing, who handled all station letters, would not know that she was corresponding with Blake. The letter was a great contrast to Mrs. Gordon's.
The delivery was consequently more or less protracted, but when each man had exchanged his three or four minutes' conversation with the fair postmistress, a conversation at times impeded by bashfulness or timidity, on his part solely, or restricted often to vague smiling, he resignedly made way for the next.
It was not necessary to efficiency that the postmistress should buy a penny stamp for a halfpenny and sell it for twopence; or that she should haggle and beat customers down about the price of a postal order; or that she should always take tenders for telegrams.
He was always receiving through the mail envelopes marked "author's proofs," which, the postmistress said, indicated that he was an author, whatever proofs might be. She had an idea they might have something to do with photographs; perhaps his picture was going into a book.
At night Ida Mary, as postmistress, would lock the mail sack and carry it into the cabin. Dave would grab it on the run. One who has never tried it has no idea what that feat meant in a shell of a hut with the temperature ten or twenty degrees below zero, freezing one's breath in the performance.
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