“Did he ever reside here in Santa Fe?” he asked.
“I don’t think he did, sir—he always looked as if he came from a distance, and he didn’t come regular, either. I used to think he was up among the mines in the mountains.”
“Did he receive many letters through this office?”
“At first he did, but not more’n three or four the last year or two, and I was to let them lay until they were come for. When he come last he said he was goin’ to leave this country altogether.”
“It is very strange,” mused Geoffrey, as he sat turning over that little piece of gold and enamel.
“If it could but speak,” he thought, “all my trouble and search would be over.”
“Will you sell me this little relic?” he asked, at last, turning to the ex-postmaster.
“Bless you! no, sir. I shouldn’t think of selling it to anybody; but if you’re that man’s son, as you say, it’s yours by right, and you can have it and welcome.”
Geoffrey thanked the honest old gentleman heartily for it and his kindness in answering his inquiries, and then arose to take his leave.
He picked up one of the hats that Mrs. Brown had just completed, asking if she could make him one and have it ready by the time he got around to Santa Fe again.