But, contrary to their expectation, they found the postoffice was not there but at the second house up the street. They could read the sign outside, they were told.
Its location known, the place was easy enough to find; a small white house, like any other of its type. The door was ajar and the travellers entered to find themselves in a square enclosure, a door to their left, and in front of them a box-like structure with a sort of window cut in it. Before the window hung a calico curtain. From behind this curtain presently appeared the head of a man.
"Good morning, ladies," the voice came with pleasant eagerness; "you're the ladies from Sandbridge? Mr. Matthews wrote to me about you. Will you just walk into the front room there, and take seats while I am sorting the mail. I'll be with you as soon as it is distributed."
Linda opened the only door in sight, and the two entered a plainly furnished room, which, however, provided two comfortable chairs, and in these they seated themselves to wait the postmaster's leisure.
They were mistaken if they thought their arrival was the unimportant matter it would seem to be, for, as the villagers began to come in, each made some excuse to enter the room, the first leaving the door ajar so the visitors could distinctly hear the postmaster, as he handed out the mail, importantly informing his friends: "The ladies from Sandbridge have come." So one after another made some pretext for seeing the strangers. "Where can I get a match?" one would inquire. "Oh, I've opened the wrong door," the next would say, while the third showed his ardent curiosity simply and honestly by merely standing in the doorway and beaming on the two ladies. Once or twice a salutation was offered, though more often it was not.
The finale occurred when two little girls, with hair slicked tightly back and braided in flaxen pigtails, appeared, each holding the hand of a little boy with as shining a face as her own. Each little girl grasped a large red apple, in one hand, taking frequent succulent bites as she stared with round china-blue eyes at the strangers. The little roly-poly boy stared quite as fixedly, but at the first question addressed, the three fled, though Miss Ri and Linda could hear them shrilly reporting their experiences to someone in the next room.
In due time the postmaster appeared. "You wanted a fix, ladies, I believe. I meant to have gotten Jo Wilson's, but he's gone to his wife's brother's funeral. Maybe I can get Tom Skinner's; I'll see. I reckon a buggy will do, and you can drive yourselves. Going to the old church, I hear."
"I don't think we can drive," spoke up Miss Ri. "We don't know the road, in the first place, and in the second I don't care to drive a strange horse."
The man looked quite taken aback; he had not counted on these complications. "Now, that's too bad," he said. "I just depended on Jo, you see, but funerals won't wait. I'll look around and find out what we can do." He departed, leaving the two to be peeped at over the window-sill by three pairs of china-blue eyes. Evidently the children's curiosity was not yet satisfied.
"I feel as if I belonged to a menagerie," laughed Linda, "and as if they'd be feeding me peanuts next."