"And I cannot go because of baby," said mamma; "we must wait till papa comes."
"I wish we could get our letter if it is there," said Maggie; "we could read it while we are waiting for papa."
"There's a nice civil man there, Mrs. Bradford," said James, "and if you didn't mind Miss Maggie going over, I could lift her out, and he'll wait on her as if it was yourself."
"Oh, James," said Maggie; "I couldn't do it, not for anything. I couldn't indeed, mamma."
"Well, dear, you need not, if you are afraid."
"But I would like to have our letter so much, mamma."
"So would I," said Bessie. "And when dear papa comes we will want to talk to him and not to yead our letter."
"Maybe it is not there," said Maggie.
"But we would like to know," said Bessie. "Could I go, mamma?"
"You are almost too little I think, dear."
"Well," said Maggie, slowly, "I guess I'll go. Mamma, will you look at me all the time?"
"Yes, dear, and there is nothing to hurt you. Just walk in at that door, and you will see a man there. Ask him if there are any letters to go to Mr. Jones's house."
"Yes, mamma, and be very sure you watch all the time."
James came down from his seat and lifted Maggie from the carriage. She walked very slowly across the road, every step or two looking back to see if her mother was watching her. Mrs. Bradford smiled and nodded to her, and at last Maggie went in at the door. But the moment she was inside, her mother saw her turn round and fly out of the post-office as if she thought something terrible was after her. She tore back across the road and came up to the carriage looking very much frightened.
"Why, Maggie, what is it, dear?" asked her mother.
"Oh, mamma, there is a hole there, and a man put his face in it; please put me in the carriage, James."
"Oh, foolish little Maggie," said mamma; "that man was the post-master, and he came to the hole as you call it, to see what you wanted. If you had waited and told him, he would have looked to see if there were any letters for us."
"He had such queer spectacles on," said Maggie.
"I wish I could go," said Bessie; "I wouldn't be afraid of him. I do want to know if Grandpapa Duncan's letter is there."
"Then you may try," said her mother; "take her out, James."
So Bessie was lifted out of the carriage, and went across the road as Maggie had done. She walked into the post-office and saw the hole Maggie had spoken of, but no one was looking out of it. It was a square opening cut in a wooden partition which divided the post-office. On one side was the place where Bessie stood, and where people came to ask for their letters; on the other was the postmaster's room, where he kept the letters and papers till they were called for.
Bessie looked around and saw no one. She always moved very gently, and she had come in so quietly that the post-master had not heard her. There was a chair standing in front of "the hole." Bessie pushed it closer, and climbing upon it, put her little face through, and looked into the post-master's side of the room. He was sitting there reading. He was an ugly old man, and wore green goggles, which Maggie had called "such queer spectacles." But Bessie was not afraid of him.
"How do you do, Mr. Post Officer?" she said. "I came for our letter."
The post-master looked up. "Well, you're a big one to send after a letter," he said. "Who is it for?"
"For Maggie and me, and it is from Grandpapa Duncan; has it come?"
"Where are you from?" asked the post-master, laughing.
"From Mr. Jones's house. Oh, I forgot, mamma said I was to ask if any letters had come for Mr. Jones's house."
"Then I suppose you are Mr. Bradford's daughter?"
"Yes, I am," said Bessie.
"And are you the little girl who came in here just now, and ran right out again?"
"Oh, no, sir; that was Maggie. Poor Maggie is shy, and she said you looked out of a hole at her."
"And you looked in a hole at me, but I did not run away. If I was to run away you could not get your letter."
"Is it here, sir?" asked Bessie.
"Well, I reckon it may be," said the post-master; "what's your name?"
"My name is Bessie, and my sister's is Maggie."
"Here is one apiece then," said the post-master, taking up some letters. "Here is one for Miss Bessie Bradford; that's you, is it? and one for Miss Maggie Bradford, that's your sister, I reckon."
"What! one for myself, and one for Maggie's self," said Bessie. "Are they from Grandpapa Duncan?"
"I don't know," said the post-master. "You will have to open them to find that out."
"Oh, how nice; please let me have them, sir; I am very much obliged to you."
"Stop, stop," cried the post-master, as Bessie jumped down from the chair, and was running off with her prizes. "Here are some more papers and letters for your folks."
But Bessie did not hear him; she was already out of the door, running over to the carriage with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, holding up a letter in each hand. "Oh, Maggie, Maggie," she called, "that nice post-officer gave me two letters, one for you, and one for me; wasn't he kind?"
"I think it was a kind Grandpapa Duncan, who took the trouble to write two letters," said Mrs. Bradford.
"So it was," said Maggie. "Mamma, will you read them for us?"
"In a moment," said Mrs. Bradford; and then she turned to speak to the post-master, who had followed Bessie to the carriage with the papers and letters which she had been in too great a hurry to wait for. She thanked him, and he went back and stood at the door watching the eager little girls while their mother read to them. She opened Maggie's letter first. It said,
"My dear Little Maggie: —
"I cannot tell you how pleased I was to receive the very nice letter which you and Bessie sent me. I have put it in a safe place in my writing desk, and shall keep it as long as I live. As you wrote it together, perhaps you expected that I would make one answer do for both; but I thought you would be better pleased if I sent a letter for each one.
"I am glad to hear that you like Quam Beach so much; but you must not let it make you forget dear old Riverside. I am fond of the sea myself, and do not know but I may take a run down to see you some day this summer. Do you think you could give a welcome to the old man? and would Mrs. Jones make him such a famous turnover as she made for you?
"I went this morning to see your friend Jemmy, for I thought you would like to hear something about him. He was out in the little garden, on the shady side of the house, sitting in his chair with his books beside him, and a happier or more contented boy I never saw. He was alone, except for his dog and rabbits, for his mother was washing, and Mary was out. Mrs. Bent brought me a chair, and I sat and talked to Jemmy for some time. I asked him which of all his books he liked best. 'Oh, my Bible, sir,' he said. 'I think it is with the Bible and other books, just like it is with people, Mr. Duncan.' 'How so?' I asked. 'Why, sir,' he answered, 'when Mary and mother are away, the neighbors often come in to sit with me and talk a bit. They are very kind, and I like to have them tell me about things; but no matter how much they make me laugh or amuse me, 'tain't like mother's voice; and if I am sick, or tired, or uncomfortable, or even glad, there ain't nobody that seems to have just the right thing to say, so well as her. And it's just so with the Bible, I think; it always has just the very thing I want: whether it's comfort and help, or words to say how happy and thankful I feel. The other books I like just as I do the neighbors; but the Bible I love just as I do mother. I suppose the reason is that the Bible is God's own words, and he loved and pitied us so that he knew what we would want him to say, just as mother loves and pities me, and so knows what I like her to say.' Happy Jemmy! he knows how to love and value God's holy