Loring rapidly slit open the envelopes, laying the telegrams on one side, and after running through the contents, began to sort the mail.
“Any passengers?” he asked the driver.
“Yes, six. Drummers mostly. They are over there eating now. There was two men and a lady; but they stopped to eat supper at the station. They will be up later.”
“It’s lucky Mrs. Brown built those new sleeping quarters to her place; she’ll be running a regular hotel here soon,” said the driver, as he swung on his heel and tramped out to unharness his horses.
Stephen sorted the mail rapidly, and deftly scaled the letters to the fortunate recipients.
“That is all,” he said, as he tossed the last. Every one left the office with the exception of McKay who, with a woebegone expression on his face, lingered behind.
“What is the matter?” asked Loring.
“Nothing,” answered McKay gruffly.
“Well, how is this?” said Stephen, taking from his pocket a letter which was addressed in large square characters to McKay. “You see she did not forget you, after all.”
McKay blushed to the roots of his hair, then opened the letter with seeming nonchalance.