“That is all,” remarked the Bensalem postmaster; “never mind fixing them straight; I get uneasy and tumble them around.”
“I will sit here and read the letter, if I may.”
“Oh, yes, do. I haven’t heard any news to-day.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t brought you any,” said Miss Affy, “and you will not care for my letter.”
“Oh, yes, I shall,” he answered, eagerly. “I was wishing I could read all the letters to amuse me. I did read Mr. Brush’s paper. I tucked it all back smooth; I knew he wouldn’t care.”
“He will call and bring you papers,” promised Miss Affy, tearing open the envelope with a hair-pin.
“I wish he would. And a book, too. I wanted Sarah to take my book back to the library to-day, and get another to read to-night if I can’t sleep, but she said she hadn’t time; and, she can’t now, because there’s supper and the mail coming in,” he groaned. “I had an awful night last night; and if it hadn’t been for ‘Tempest and Sunshine,’ I don’t know how I should have got through it.”
“That was enough for one night,” laughed the lady at the window reading the letter. “I will try to find you something better than that for to-night.”
“Will you go to the library for me? That’s just like you, Miss Affy.”
“Yes, I will go. If I cannot find anything I like I will call somewhere else. There should be books enough in Bensalem to help you through the night.”