No answer; the children were beginning to feel dreadfully ashamed, for though they were perfectly at ease with Miss Isabel, they cared too much for her good opinion to be anything but their best before her.
"I brought the stamps," continued Miss Isabel, with persistent, cheerful blindness. "Here they are."
Jack had been digging a hole with his heel ever since Miss Isabel had arrived, and it required his entire attention. Giving an extra deep backward thrust, he said without looking up:
"It's a pity you took that trouble, Miss Isabel, for we're not going to have a post-office after all."
A sob from Margery followed this remark.
"Why, what is the matter?" asked Miss Isabel, looking from one gloomy face to another, and drawing Margery's, which was hidden from her, on her knee.
"Well," said Trix desperately, "we're all mad. We got into a fuss about who would be postmaster, and we decided to give the thing up."
"What do you mean; you couldn't decide who should be postmaster first?" asked Miss Isabel. "Of course you intend to take turns in office?"
Jack, Trix, and Amy glanced at each other, and Margery stopped sobbing to listen. Simple as this solution of the difficulty was, no one had thought of it.