They laid the card back on the dusty shelf and left the gloomy house, laughing and excited in the possession of a secret.
The summer cottages were beginning to fill up, guests were arriving at the boarding-houses, consequently there was always a crowd at the post-office when the mail was sorted. The steamboat which brought it had just steamed off when the girls reached the long flight of steps which led to the wharf. They threaded their way through the crowd which was thronging the small store. Most took advantage of the hour to do their marketing, since fresh supplies generally came on the boat, so the boxes and crates received attention until it was time for the little post-office window to be opened.
Ellen and Mabel took their places in line. A young man, looking over his shoulder, stepped aside. “Take my place,” he said; “I’m not in a hurry.” He raised his hat and walked off while they moved up, and presently, loaded up with letters, papers, two bottles of milk, and a box of strawberries, they started for home.
“That was a nice, polite somebody,” remarked Mabel; “I wonder who he is.”
“Robert MacDonald maybe,” returned Ellen laughing.
“Wouldn’t it be funny if he were? I suppose we could find out. Would you ask?”
“Oh, no, don’t; it would spoil our secret. Let’s keep up the mystery for a while longer. If it should be he, we would feel sort of conscious; and if it isn’t, there is no harm done.”
“I reckon you’re right. I rather like his looks, whatever his name may be. We’ll leave it this way: if we meet him around, we’ll probably find out all about him. If he should prove to be Robert, we can keep our own counsel and he will have no way of identifying us, so there you are. There may nothing more come of it, for it is quite likely that he will never pay another visit to the haunted house.”
“I shall be really disappointed if he doesn’t. It would be such fun if he were to answer our message.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”