[CHAPTER XX.]
THEY FLEW LIKE MADMEN INTO THE TOWN.
Mr. Hart took some interest in home politics--that is to say, in the politics of the old country; Philip took none, not from lack of sympathy, but because he had no room. Every nook and corner of his mind was filled by one idea, which presented itself in a hundred different shapes; that idea was Margaret.
The Overland Mail came into Silver Creek once a month, pretty regularly, with letters and papers from home; and if you had seen the post-office on the day the four-horse coach brought the mails, you never would have forgotten the sight. Crowds stood around the doors and windows of the wooden building, for up to the present time every building in Silver Creek township was either drill, calico, or wood. There was some talk of a stone building, and when this was once up, you may be sure that others would soon follow. Well, around the wooden post-office, hundreds and hundreds of men and women were assembled when the Overland Mail arrived, waiting for the windows to open so that they might receive their letters. If the mail came in somewhat later than usual, the clerks at the post-office would be kept at work until late in the night sorting the letters and the newspapers, to allay the anxiety of the people. News from home! Ah, you who have not been a wanderer, and parted from friends and relations and all whom you love, do not know what those words mean! For many hours after the arrival of the Overland Mail, Silver Creek was filled with tender memories. The faces of those who received letters from home through the little window lit up with joy; they laughed at the well-known handwriting and their eyes filled with tears. Ah! this is from mother. Dear old mother! What a queer hand she writes! And this from the old boy! And this from Jim! And this from Arthur! And these from Mary, and Fanny, and Nelly, and Kate, and Maggie, and I don't know whom all besides! God bless them every one! There was electricity in the very envelopes, which went from the tips of the fingers, when the paper was touched, into the palm of the hand--where hers, and hers, and hers, lay once upon a time--up the arm, straight into the heart, and illumined faces there. Very plainly illumined them, I can tell you. Old faces, young faces, wrinkles and cheeks of peach, eyes dim and bright, parched lips and lips sweetly fresh, horny fingers and soft, white hair and brown--all were plain and visible, looking, smiling, speaking to those who held their letters in their hands. They did not take their letters home to read; they opened them there and then, and stood about reading; and their eyes sparkled, and they grew sad, and tender, and joyous, and pensive, as the news moved them. Those who received no letters walked slowly and mournfully away.
Always for two or three days previous to the arrival of the mail Mr. Hart became restless and anxious and impatient. Perhaps it would come in a day or two earlier, and he was always hoping that it would. The coach stopped at the hotel, and Mr. Hart would run to the door, and cry out to Levy the driver, "Brought the mail, Lee?"
He was in that state now, some six weeks after the marriage of Philip and Margaret. The mail really was due, and the coach had come in without it. When Levy, who had driven all the way this time, left town for Silver Creek, the mail-ship was not signalled at the Heads. It was a great disappointment to Mr. Hart.
Everything was going on well. Since Philip had bought the hotel, the business had increased, as it would have done under William Smith's management. Silver Creek was growing more prosperous every day, and these things were natural. Philip was a favourite; so was Mr. Hart. As for Margaret, the gold-diggers would flock to the hotel, and hang about, and talk, and drink, only on a chance of catching a sight of her; and Margaret knew this, and did not disappoint them. "There she is!" they would say. The sight of her did them good. And when she walked out, admiring eyes followed her at every step. No lady in the world was more genuinely respected and more highly thought of.
I was almost forgetting to state a little incident. Upon Philip's return from his honeymoon, he said to Mr. Hart, when they two were alone together:
"I want you to take care of this packet for me, and to promise me one thing."
He handed Mr. Hart a sealed envelope, on which no name or address was written. There was an enclosure in it, somewhat bulky.