Geoffrey slept well, and awoke to find a bright, beautiful morning breaking, and all nature fresh and attractive in its newly washed attire.
He ate heartily of the savory breakfast that had been prepared for him, and then started forth in search of the post-office to learn what he could regarding the history of Lock Box 43.
He was somewhat disappointed to find that the postmaster was a man only about thirty-five years of age, and, upon inquiry, learned that he had served in that capacity not more than five or six years.
Of course he knew at once that he could tell him nothing that he wished to know, and he began to fear that his journey hither had been all for naught.
“Who was postmaster here before you received your appointment?” he inquired, after making some general talk about the city.
“Old Abe Brown, sir, and I only hope I may be as lucky as he was; he held it for more’n fifteen years.”
Geoffrey felt his courage rise at this information.
If he could only find old Abe Brown, doubtless he could tell him something interesting about Lock Box 43.
“Is he living?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, and hale and hearty, too,” and going to the door, the obliging postmaster pointed out the rude dwelling which his predecessor occupied.