"And do you not think so still?" said Mabel.
"Not so much, certainly," he replied, "I think it often arises from the feeling that we are not quite independent of the outer world till the letters of the day have been read. Good and bad news must frequently come by letter, and, therefore, as long as we have any friends separated from us, we must feel a little anxious to know if there be any news at all."
"Do you not think," said Mabel, "that this is sometimes carried too far, and may degenerate into almost a sickly feeling?"
"Yes, certainly; I would not have any one indifferent on common subjects, but too great attention to things of this kind must be wrong."
"I have often thought so," said Mabel, thoughtfully, "when I have felt quite anxious on seeing the man coming, and then when I open my letters, full of the most ordinary business, I feel quite ashamed of myself."
"And what were you really hoping for, dear child?" said Mr. Ware.
The color rose fast over her truthful countenance, but at this moment the postman himself was seen, and saved her the pain of answering.
Mr. Ware soon secured his papers, and one or two letters, and being anxious to convey one home to his nephew, he took leave of them where the road separated.