And each adding a bit of information, the story of the post-office was told him. Mr. Dean laughed heartily over the names.
"What fun you must have!" he exclaimed. "If I come to return your call, will you show me the post-office?"
"Oh, yes," cried Margery. "I am post-mistress this week. And, you know, we have one honorary member, and she's Miss Isabel, and her name is the Lady Alma Cara. No matter what we do, we always have Miss Isabel, because we can't get on without her."
"It is not easy, my little maid, to get on without Miss Isabel," said Mr. Dean gently. "What would you do if you could not see her, or speak to her, or write to her for ten year?"
"We wouldn't stand it: we will always keep her," cried Trix, firing up, and regarding this as a direct threat from him whom she was still ready to regard as an enemy. But Margery understood.
"I'd hardly be able to breathe," she said pityingly, laying her hand on her new friend's coat-sleeve; "but I'd know it would be better by and by."
"You dear little atom," said Mr. Dean, putting his hand on her dark hair, "it is no wonder that you at least have a white dove on your badge."
In a moment Mr. Dean spoke again, quite cheerfully:
"Now I have been thinking of something while we have been sitting here. I cannot tell how long I shall be at the Evergreens; it may be all summer, it may not be a month. It depends on whether I succeed in what I came to do. I should like to see as much of you as I can while I am here; do you suppose that if I asked you to tea some day before long you would all come?"