TALES OF TRAVEL: IN THE POST OFFICE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2516, 4 June 1902, Page 66

TALES OF TRAVEL : IN THE POST OFFICE.

"You're a contamematin' us,' 1 said the Oldest Inhabitant wrathfully. "Since you've bin rusthri' round, thar ain't bin no peace for nobody. You've set folk athinkin', and it ain't nat'ral." "Why not? Why bhouldn't folk think? ' ' It's all along of your blankety conceit," said the Oldest Inhabitant, with repressed vigour. " You lives in a little island as folk can't move in 'ithout bein' shoved .into the sea, and then you comes and you want to know 'bout things. Just as if you didn't know all the time ! ' " If I did, I shouldn't ask."' " You make me tired," said the Oldest Inhabitant. " I'm goin' along to the post office to git over it." " But why do you want to go to the post office? Do you expect any letters? "' The Oldest Inhabitant surveyed me severely. " D'you think I'm a writin' man?"' he asked, with "obvious sarcasm. "' Xo, I ain't sunk to that yet." "Then if you don't expect letters why do you go to the post office and was-te time?"

" Why -" Words failed him. '' My father used to go to the post office,"' he said, after a prolonged interval for reflection.

" But he hasn't stayed there ever since. You're not going to look for him? " "And one ain't allowed to shoot furrin insecks in this yer free and happy land of the maple and beaver," said the Oldest Inhabitant bitterly to a pa&sing oriole. " Come on, and see for yourself." We went leisurely along in the blazing BiinshinQ.jnjiat £lifi invest woodtfl iioui^ in

Canada. The Prettiest Girl in the World came out and joined us. She was going to the most office.

As we passed the Gazette office, Chi Lung meekly intruded his leathery countenance, and slithered into the dusty road. "Where are you off to?' 1 I asked.

"Me allee samee Melican man ; glowee postofflis," returned that unabashed heathen, with an imperceptible wink and blink at the Prettiest Girl in the World.

The Parson was busily engaged nailing up " morning glories " over bis verandah. He hesitated, put down his tools, and joined us. " Ah, just going for your mail?'' he asked, cheerily. " I think I'll come too.' 1

We were an elaborate procession by the time the post office was reached. Nothing externally showed that the building was a post office. The door stood invitingly open, and there was a shady verandah. Chairs were scattered about the verandah, and there was a pail of water with a lump of ice in it. A tin dipper lay beside the pail.

Inside the post office was a counter dividing the room into two -equal parts. Each inhabitant of Four Corners had a letterbox, the glass back of which fronted him, so that he could see whether there was anything in it. As a rule there was not. The post-mi stress wore a cool print dress with becoming stripes. She was engaged sealing up the departing mail in a leather bag. Everyone gave a perfunctory glance at the empty letter boxes, then sank down on a seat and prepared to talk.

"Boat roundin' the Point yet?" asked the Oldest Inhabitant.

"Not for 20 minutes,'" said the' postmistress. A young lawyer was consulting her about the stamp, whilst the other talked to the Prettiest Girl in the World.

Old Bulmer dropped in, a marble chisel in his hand. " Just finishin' off Miss Casey's moniment," he said, with the air of one imparting an interesting fact. " I'm in a bit of a difficulty about it."

"What's the matter?" asked the Parson. "Can I help you?" " Dunno as you can." Buhner mopped his perspiring brow. " You see, she warnt what you might by any chance call stout." " No ; but she was a good woman," said the Parson emphatically. "A good woman ! "'

"That's the trubble. Her father comes to me with a. text to carve on the stone, and of course, bein' a nat'ral born idjaot, he must choose the text, ' Lord, she was thine.' "

" I don't see anything idiotic in that," said the Parson, with not unnatural heat.

"No, you wouldn't, in course not." Old Bulmer again mopped his brow. "In course not ; but, you see, thar warn't room for the last letter of ' thine,' and it come out a sort of reflection on the departed. See ! "

The Parson saw

Presently the white hull of the Ottawa boat rounded the Point. She glided along like a beautiful bird, fussed up to the wharf, deposited the mail bags and a barrel of pork, then glided away into the distant haze. From time to time came the faint sound of her paddle wheels. Then there was no boat. She had disappeared, leaving a vision of beauty behind her. Only the west wind, blowing gently towards us, wafted its fragrance into our souls. " Cnme," said the west wind. " Come. Here is a cleansing river. Wash in it and be clpan." The Schoolmistress's eyes were — Deeper than the depth Of water stilled at even. She camei to me in a corner of the verandah. " I want to know," she said. " I want to know."

" Want to know what? " I made room beside me. She sat down.

" I want to know ; I want to know. What is Life?" "Life? To me?' " Ye.« — to you.' " fo me it is — peace! The peace of the unfamiliar."

" Ah, but when you were my age? When you woke and stretched restless arms to God. and prayed, and He did not hear A Oil.'' "Then I longed for the tumult of life." "And God sent it to you? He sent it to you? You fought and won?"

" I do not know."

"But you want to know? You want to win the applause of men and women, to see multitudes hang on your words, to have people weep or laugh over your books, to be iipart from the herd?' 1

" I did once. Now I love the ' herd." I sit in the sunshine, pray to God to take away the tumult, to bring me peaceful days and dewy eves, the laughter of children, the kindness of friends, the "

" Peace — rest — -kindness ! What are they when compared to greatness?' "Do you ever read Tenny«on? Doesn't he say that it is a touch of greatness to know well one is not gieat?"

She drew a long breath. " You disappoint me. Oh, you disappoint me." " No ; I warn you ; and you have a dim feeling that there is truth in what I say. But you are going into the struggle, to forsake all thi.«. Some day you will come back to it, enjoy it, stretch tired hands to the sky ard thank God that He has brought you back. Behind all thp tumult and struggle of the world there sometimes wait for us the gifts God gave us fiist. the gi f ts we did not want. Tf wr d'd not lose them for a time, we should not c.ire for them. Old age would be a void, life a regret.' "Life! life! — always life I"'

" Yes, it is always life.' The girl sighed. "Why do ppnple who have lived always come back and — crodkV

The Chinaman slithered up to us hi*. pin-point eyes dully fixed upon tbp girl. In his hand lie held a letter, which boie the facsimile cover of a well-known American magazine. She tore it open with a little cry. '" At last ? At last ! It has come at last ! "

She kis-sed the letter, the envelope, droppe 1 the latter, and looked for it in 1 btvw it disauiiear iad thn f'.binj.-

man's sleeve, but his face was as impassive as usual.

"It is a story — accepted!" she panted. "My first!"

She glided away to weep tears of joy over her first-born. The Sphinx-like Chi Lung remained. " Missee glo 'way? " he asked, stubbing the floor with his toe.

I nodded. The shutters of silence spread over Chi Lung's yellow visage. He shrugged his shoulders and weDt oiit. — Wektwokth Smee, in the Sunday Sun.