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^MARGARET DELAND^

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BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE

SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND

THE GIFT OF

HENRY W. SAGE

1891

Cornell University Library
PS 1532.P2

Partners.

3 1924 022 112 514

Cornell University
Library

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the Cornell University Library.

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the United States on the use of the text.

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[See p. 34

"POSTAL DELAYS'

PARTNERS

MARGARET DELAND

ILLUSTRATED BY

CHARLES DANA GIBSON

HARPER b' BROTHERS PUBLISHERS

NEW YORK AND LONDON

MCMXIII

um^5^

PUBLISHED OCTOBER. 1913

tr-N

TO
L. F. D.

KENNEBUNKPORT
JUNE 30, 1913

ILLUSTRATIONS

"postal delays" Frontispiece

MRS. GEDGE WAS READY TO SAY ANYTHING,
IF ONLY SHE COULD CHEER 'mANDY UP

A LITTLE Facing p. 24

THE ADMIRATION OF THE ALBUM .... " 48

"l LIKE YOU, 'MANDY" " 112

PARTNERS

CHAPTER I

THE post-office in Purham was at the
foot of a long hill, around which
curved, like a bending arm, a little rush-
ing brown brook. Main Street climbed
this hill a little way, then paused at a
watering-trough — a hollowed log, mossy
and dripping and bordered with wet
ferns; after that the street melted into
a country road which wandered through
the fields, ending as a neighborhood
lane for the convenience of half a dozen
houses which were only occupied during
that part of the year in which the "sum-
mer people," as they were called, invaded
the Ptirham quiet. The houses along
Main Street stood close together in a

PARTNERS

friendly way, turning their backs —
whenever they could — on the preten-
tious residences above them. Purham
acknowledged that the people who lived
in the hiU cottages — cottages, if you
please! into whose front parlors you
could almost put a whole Purham house;
— ^had a certain value; but it looked
down upon them as one does look down
upon the merely useful. Purham ad-
mitted that they were useful; they
meant trade, and trade meant money
in the bank. They also meant fuss and
foolery and idleness — ^which would have
been a bad example for youth had there
been any youth in Purham. But as
Purham boys and girls grew up they
hurried away into the world, — and the
bad example cotild not hurt Ptirham's
old age and childhood; as for its care-
taking middle age, that was protected
by its own slow contempt, softened by
amusement, for the whole bil'in' of them
hill folks.

PARTNERS

The village was small; forty houses,
perhaps, besides the Post-office and the
tavern, which last was frequented by
drummers with sample-trunks, and itin-
erant dentists, or an occasional photog-
rapher who offered to make a crayon
portrait of any of your deceased relar
tives, provided you could give him a
tintype and ten dollars. Purham houses
were all made on one pattern, inside
and out: a story and a half high, with
a room on. each side of a narrow entry,
which was generally so dark that one
could not see the pattern of the oil-
cloth. But that was an advantage if
the oil-cloth was shabby. Each house
had a shed at right angles to the
kitchen. All the best rooms had the
same cold, musty smell — ^perhaps be-
cause the windows were not often
opened, owing to a tendency to stick
which sometimes kept them shut from
one spring-cleaning to another.

Except at a meeting of the sewing-
3

PARTNERS

society or at a funeral, Purham parlors
never saw the light, although they held
the choicest possessions of the house-
hold. The crayon portraits hung upon
their walls, and the framed funeral
wreaths; braided rugs protected their
carpets from infrequent feet or the rare
intrusion of sunshine. The center-tables
in these melancholy rooms held the
family Bible, and, standing on a wool
mat, an astral lamp which awaited an
occasion important enough to be lighted ;
an occasion so long in coming that often
the oil was thick and yellow in the red
or green glass bowl.

There was, however, one house on
Main Street — a little gray house fronting
the elm-shaded common — which was not
on the Purham lines. Old Mrs. Gedge
lived in this house with her daughter
Amanda; and though they followed the
village standards as well as they could
in other things, they were conspicuous —
and important — ^because they had no
4

PARTNERS

parlor. But as if to make up for this
deficiency, their house had two front
doors. One opening into the entry, for
family use ; the other into the room that
shotild have been the parlor. From a
pole above this second door blew out
bravely an American flag, beneath which
was nailed a weatherbeaten sign :

"U. S. Post-Office"

In that room — which had once been
as good a parlor as anybody else's! —
there was no bowing to Purham custom;
no center table or astral lamp, no
crayon portraits — nothing but busi-
ness!

It was divided by a partition in which
were rows of pigeonholes. There was a
counter on one side, and a show-case.
Some shelves between the front windows
held immemorial green pasteboard boxes,
their comers strengthened by strips of
linen pasted along each angle; there
was writing-paper in these boxes, pale
2 S

PARTNERS

pink and yellow, with fine blue ruling,
and perhaps a picture at the top of
each sheet. In the show-case were bits
of jewelry pasted upon yellowing cards,
and some scent bottles, and bottles of
red and blue ink; standing on its
scratched and dim glass top were three
jars which held red and white kisses,
little hard gumdrops, and fat black
sticks of licorice. The only decorations
in the room were posters of cotmty fairs
and of traveling bell-ringers; one as re-
cent as within two years.

In the open space in front of the par-
tition was a small air-tight stove, melon-
shaped and rusty; one chair stood near
this stove, but one only. "7 would
have more chairs if it was mine, this
post-office," said Mrs. Gedge, "but it
is a place for business, not sociality,
so the Government don't provide chairs;
and it ain't for me to seem to criticize
by bringing in more than one of my
own."

PARTNERS

Mrs. Gedge and Amanda had lived
in Purham all their lives, and in the
social life of Main Street had held their
unassailable position; but since those
pigeonholes had been put into the parlor
(twenty years ago now) — since that
time the two women, tranquiUy aging
under the shadow of the flag, had grown
vastly more important. They were the
custodians of the United States mail;
they were intrusted with public moneys ;
they had communications with Wash-
ington; it was reported, although care-
fully not asserted by either mother or
daughter, that they had had a letter
from the President! The consciousness
of their obligations and responsibilities
clothed them as with a uniform. Aman-
da Gedge carried her taU, spare form
with a precision suited to the parade-
ground; she held her head, her mother
used to tell her, like a soldier — "which
is only right," said Mrs. Gedge, "for
you are a soldier's daughter, and you are
7

PARTNERS

in the Government!" Mrs. Gedge had
been known to put an end to a political
discussion, begun around the stove while
she was distributing the mail, on the
ground that she was "connected with
the administration, and it was not
right for her to hear it criticized; so, if
they pleased, they could step outside
and talk about it." The Secretary of
State coidd have no better excuse for
refusing to discuss the President's mes-
sage!

But that time of arrogance and the
sense of power was eight years ago,
when Mrs. Gedge, able to sort the letters
herself and hand them out of the de-
livery window, could overhear com-
ments upon the weather, or the church,
or, once in fotir years, the poUtics of
the nation. Now that pleasant time
was over; all day long she sat behind
the partition, her crutches beside her,
her knitting in her crippled old hands,
and the sorting of the mail was left to
8

PARTNERS

the milder and more indulgent Amanda,
who never dreamed of telling people
what they must or must not talk about.
"I tell 'Mandy she's my partner," Mrs.
Gedge used to say, jocosely; "since she's
grown up I trust the office to her quite
considerable." In point of fact, she
entrusted it entirely to her faded, gentle
daughter, who was a trifle deaf, and so
absorbed by her duties that she did not
notice the discussions carried on in the
open space about the stove, which space,
even Mrs. Gedge admitted, belonged to
the Public. Besides, although Amanda
appreciated her own dignity, her deepest
thought was for her mother, and she
was not so apt to reflect upon what was
due to her official personality as to
wonder whether Mrs. Gedge's rheuma-
tism was better, or whether they could
afford to try a bottle of some new kind
of medicine. Still, Amanda knew her
importance as a representative of the
United States government.
9

PARTNERS

It was all pathetically genuine. The
stimmer people, who found the Gedges
very slow and provoking, had no idea
of the reality behind the little pom-
posities. Amanda's bosom had thrilled
with patriotism, when, twenty-four years
before, her father had enlisted; it still
thrilled at any mention of her country.
Every evening when she let fall the
halyards and took the flag in, she did it
with a mental salute; every morning
when she ran the colors up she held her
head high with pride. It was not
empty pride; Amanda had made sacri-
fices for that flag that streamed out
gaily in the sunshine or clung to the pole
in rain and mist; not only her father,
but her lover, William Boyce, had died
•for it. Twenty-five years ago Amanda
had not been angular and dried up; a
boy, in those dewy days, had loved her
youth and her gentle brown eyes —
"eyes like my setter's," the boy had
said, knowing no higher comparison.

PARTNERS

When he went away to fight for his
country, he took with him her promise
to be faithful to him forever — ^just as
his setter would be faithful, too, "For-
ever" was not a very long time; he
came home again in a year, so sick,
poor fellow, that he did not care much
for the faithfulness that was awaiting
him; he hardly noticed Amanda, who
nursed him day and night, or Ponto,
who lapped his hot hand whenever it
fell listlessly at his side. Then he died;
— and Amanda, tearless, saluted the
flag!

Her father had never come home;
she did not even know where his grave
was, but Wilhe's was over on the hill.
It seemed to belong to Amanda, for
the young man's family — and Ponto —
moved away from Purham, and left
the low green mound to her. More
than that, the poem on the slate head-
stone had been the one literary achieve-
ment of Mrs. Gedge's life— she had com-
II

PARTNERS

posed it, but it only. Official life, she
had been heard to complain, left her
no time for writing poetry. She also
laid to official life the charge that she
was severe in telling people not to talk
politics in the post-office. "In my
position, you have your responsibili-
ties," said Mrs. Gedge, "and maybe
you do get a mite harsh." Yet Mrs.
Gedge's harshness was only on the sur-
face; more than once she had illus-
trated the paternal side of government
by small indulgences, such as delaying
the mail-bag for a letter which she knew
was being written by a slow and
anxious correspondent. It was quite an
ordinary thing for her to give a postal
to a customer who had chanced to
leave his purse at home, and when he
remembered his penny debt she had been
known to refuse to recognize his paltry
obligation, although the deficiencies
caused by such governmental generosity
gave Amanda many arithmetical diffi-

PARTNERS

culties, and lessened their already slen-
der income. Neither Mrs. Gedge nor
Amanda really minded that; their in-
convenience was noblesse oblige; to hold
back the wheels of government and to
be mulcted of a penny now and then,
was the incident of responsibility. Yet
such is the ingratitude of human nature
that there had been more than one
irritated protest heard in the open
space before the delivery window. To
be sure, such protests had always come
from the summer residents, "and,"
said Mrs. Gedge, comforting her daugh-
ter, whose face was flushed and whose
eyes glittered with tears, "you really
can't, expect anything else of such peo-
ple, Amanda!"

"Well, I must say it was unreason-
able," Amanda agreed. "Mr. Hamil-
ton knows that we have to consider the
Public, but he says he's the PubHc — and
only here six weeks in the summer! I
said, said I : ' Mr. Hamilton, Mrs. Dace
13

PARTNERS

wanted to send ofif some collars she'd
been making for her daughter, and I
knew she only had a stitch to put in
them. If I'd sent the mail-bag down
by the morning stage those collars
wouldn't have been in it, and Mary
Dace wouldn't have got them in time for
Sunday. So I kept back the bag, and
coaxed OUy to take it down on the
evening stage.' Well, Mr, Hamilton
was just as unreasonable!"

"You shouldn't argue with people
like that, 'Mandy. The Government is
the only thing you've got to consider.
If Mr. Hamilton don't like the way the
Government serves him — weU, let him
carry his letters himself!"

"It was nothing but a paper that was
delayed, anyhow," Amanda explained
for the third time.

Mrs. Gedge pulled her little brown

knitted shawl around her shoulders.

" Of course we do sell more stamps when

they are here — the summer people; but

PARTNERS

they are so fussy and overbearing, even
to us, that I don't think they are worth
the money they bring in. I declare, I
believe they think Purham belongs to
them!"

But a sense of importance will sus-
tain one under small irritations, and the
peaceful life in the little house shad-
owed by the blowing flag and the big
elms, was not really disturbed. All that
summer, which was tremulous with the
excitement of a great campaign, Mrs.
Gedge sat knitting behind the pigeon-
holes, watching the Public come and
go along the dusty road, or the stage
tugging up from the bridge across the
brook, and pausing at the Public's door
to leave the mail-bag. The sitting-
room, on the other side of the entry was
really a pleasanter place than the office,
but the old postmistress, although she
was willing to say, (as a joke,) that
Amanda was her "partner," was not
willing to be anything but the head of
IS

PARTNERS

the firm; so day in and day out she sat
behind the pigeonholes and permitted
her daughter to do all the work. But
after the last maU was distributed she
was glad to relax into domesticity.

In the sitting-room they were, Mrs.
Gedge said, just like anybody else;
(probably she never really believed this,
but she said it). This room had no
flavor of a Purham parlor; it had just
plain comfort. The south window was
full of Amanda's geraniums, flotuishing
so finely that the vigorous leaves made
the room faintly fragrant. The base-
burner was bright with polish and nickel
trimmings, and the worn "two-ply" in
the center of the pumpkin-yellow floor
gave a hint of comfortable color tinder-
foot. On the wall, above a little table
draped with a crazy-patchwork cover,
was a book-rack holding the Bible and
Pilgrim's Progress and one or two such
faithful friends; but scarcity of books
left more room for the few ornaments
i6

PARTNERS

that Mrs. Gedge loved, and Amanda
had revered ever since her childhood : a
whale's tooth, a yellowing bunch of wax
grapes, and two china vases ; on the top
shelf was a Rogers group, presented by-
one of the summer people who had been
clearing her "cottage" out, and getting
rid of what she called "horrors." But
the most precious thing in the sitting-
room — at any rate to Amanda — ^was a
chromo of General Grant.

" I remember the night father brought
that picture home," Amanda used to
say; "you didn't see it till supper-time;
you were up-stairs," Amanda's brown
eyes grew vague with faithful memory.
"It was the night before father went
away," she said.

"Yes," Mrs. Gedge assented; "I was
up-stairs sitting on the cowhide trunk,
crying. That's why I was late for sup-
per. You know I wanted your father
to take his things in your grandfather
Beed's cowhide trunk, and he said he
17

PARTNERS

cotildn't take a trunk to the war. He
said it wasn't customary. My, how I
cried when he said that! It seemed so
poor not to have a trunk, and I didn't
give up asking him to take it until the
last minute. He said, said he, 'it would
be fine to have a trunk, in a fight; I
could stop the whole shootin' match,
while I unpacked it, and got out a'
handkerchief if I was het up.' — ^Your
father always would have his joke ! But
it wa'n't no joke to me, seeing him go
without a trunk! You were too yotmg
— only eighteen — ^to feel it as I did.
You didn't cry."

"No, I didn't cry in those days,"
Amanda said, meekly. "I didn't seem
to have time to cry. I just followed
father roimd and round, and I watched
him hang General Grant. But you
were always a pretty crier, mother."

"Willie Boyce was in that evening,"
Mrs. Gedge went on. "I can see him
to this day! He wanted you to see
i8

PARTNERS

his uniform. He wasn't pretty, Willie
wasn't, but that never seemed to make
any difference to you. Poor Willie!
Well, he had a handsome casket; I
never knew where his folks got the
money to pay for it; but it must have
been a comfort to him if he was aware
of it. Many's the time I've wondered
whether he knows that I wrote the
poem on his tombstone? But the Bible
don't say whether folks is aware or
not."

The mention of Willie Boyce turned
Amanda silent. She said she' must go
into the office for a minute, and left her
mother wondering why the child never
would talk about her beau. "It's all
right to be faithful forever," Mrs.Gedge
reflected, "but you needn't grieve for-
ever. T'ain't sense."

CHAPTER II

BY October of that year even Piir-
ham had stirred in its satisfied in-
difference, and was hearing the voice of
the nation instructing and suggesting
and contradicting itself. The voting
population listened with stolid amuse-
ment to the men who came to tell
them that their party had outlived its
usefulness, and to entreat them to
"save the country." In all these years
Purham had never been so near holding
political opinions. It was really very
interesting. Even Mrs. Gedge said that
if they were true — the things that were
said about the party in power — she
hoped they would be turned out; but
she regretted this indiscretion after-
ward.

PARTNERS

"It isn't for us to express an opinion,
child," she told Amanda; "though, of
course, they are all anxious to know
what we think."

Amanda made some vague reply. She
was less interested than usual in her
own importance. These fall days
brought the anniversary of Willie Boyce's
death, and her mind kept wandering to
that mound over on the hillside. She
remembered, with pitiful love, his weary
indifference to her in the weeks that he
lay dying. "Willie was sick," she said
to herself; "he didn't even notice
Ponto licking his hand — ^poor old Ponto!
How he grieved for WiUie." Neither
she nor Ponto had been hurt at Willie's
indifference; the two faithful souls had
only loved the boy the more, because of
the suffering that had blotted out his
love for them. But no doubt in these
still October days her thought of Willie
made her more abstracted, and so less
careful than usual about the letters;

3 21

PARTNERS

at the mid-day distribution she dropped
one on the floor, and did not notice it
until evening. Then she put a shawl
over her head and ran across to Mr.
Goodrich's with it.

"It's lucky it wasn't for that Hamil-
ton man," Mrs. Gedge said, with a
contemptuous chuckle; "he'd have
made a fuss about it ; I believe he thinks
he owns the place!"

As for Silas Goodrich, anything so im-
portant as the arrival of a letter made
the delay of an hour or a day a very
small matter; it had come, and that
was all he cared about! He never
dreamed of finding fault.

The next day was the anniversary of
WiUie's death, and in the afternoon
Amanda went up to the graveyard with
a wreath of immortelles, which she had
dyed pink and blue and vivid green.
She propped it against the slate head-
stone, then knelt down and with her
handkerchief wiped the piece of glass

PARTNERS

which so many years ago, had been set
into the slate to cover a tintype of a con-
sumptive young man in a soldier's uni-
form. Amanda looked at the picture
long and wistfully. Some day, when
she had saved the money, she was going
to have a crayon copy made of this tin-
type. Ten dollars is not a large sum to
save; indeed, it had several times
been reached, but just as the. last dol-
lar or dime was added to the fund
there was always some call for it. Her
mother needed a wheeled chair, or a new
cooking-stove must be bought, or the re-
shingling of the roof was absolutely
necessary; so the sitting-room was still
without a crayon.

Amanda picked away some dead
myrtle leaves and scraped a flake of
lichen from the stone. She knew the
inscription by heart, but she always
read it over with unfailing pride for
her mother as well as tenderness for
WiUie.

PARTNERS

"William P. Boyce," it ran, "died
for his country;" then the date, followed
by the verse which Mrs. Gedge had
composed :

Oh, traveler, whoever you may be.
Take warning and advice by he
Who lies beneath this tomb.
He went to war and died,
And now in paradise is glorified.
Mourned by his friends.

"Mourned by his friends," Amanda
repeated; "yes, you'll always be
mourned, Willie." Then she stooped
and kissed his name.

She was very silent that evening, and
her mother was full of small devices to
cheer her. She told her how Mr. Ham-
ilton's John had come down to see
whether a letter he expected in the noon
mail might not have been overlooked.

" He said that Mr. Hamilton expected

it yesterday. I said, said I, 'No, of

course it hadn't been overlooked.' Such

a time about a letter! Well, he's gone,

Il-I

3^
1°

■0 z

r i
^o

r -
m 11

PARTNERS

anyway, Mr. Hamilton has. I wonder,"
she ended, satirically, "that he didn't
stay over until to-morrow to get his
letter."

Mrs. Gedge was ready to say any-
thing if only she could cheer 'Mandy up
a Httle. ("My goodness, and her beau
dead twenty-five years!" she thought
to herself.)

"Yes," she proceeded, "'pears he
got a telegram; I saw him driving off
afterward like a crazy man. Those
summer people have no sort of con-
sideration for their beasts; he made his
horses fly!"

Amanda looked uneasy. "I don't
think I could have missed his letter, but
I guess I'll just run in and give a look
into the bag. Don't you remember that
time Mrs. Ainn's letter stuck in the bag?"

She took a lamp, shielding its clear
flame with her hand as she walked across
the drafty entry into the office. The
mail-bag, lean and empty, hung between

PARTNERS

two chairs, awaiting the morning letters.
Amanda put her hand into it and
felt all around. "Of course there's no
letter," she said to herself, indignantly.
"It's just as mother says, they do fuss
so!" She stopped to see that the fire
was quite out in the stove, then, with
sudden boldness, opened one of the
candy jars and abstracted two gum-
drops. " There ! I guess mother and me
can have some; they're getting stale."

Afterwards, looking back upon it, that
evening seemed to Amanda Gedge won-
derfully pleasant. The end of almost
any phase of human experience seems
pleasant when one looks back upon it.
Amanda set the table, and made the
toast, and got out a tumbler of currant
jelly as a treat. When the dishes were
washed they sat down by the stove,
and while Amanda mended her stock-
ings, Mrs. Gedge talked. These two
quiet women found life very interesting.
First, of course, their own responsi-
26

PARTNERS

bilities suggested conversation. Then
they had all their past to talk about ; it
had had its sorrows — ^little Charles,
Amanda's twin, who died when he was
ten years old ; Mr. Gedge, who, making
his joke, went to the war without a
trunk, and whose grave, somewhere in
the South, was marked "Unknown";
Willie Boyce — though it was only Mrs.
Gedge who talked of Willie. They could
speak, too, of their happiness in not
being obliged to draw a pension. ' ' Gov-
ernment gave us our position, so we
are independent," said Amanda. Mrs.
Gedge acquiesced, adding that a pension
would make her feel like a beggar, any-
way, but not needing it, being in the
Government, it would make her feel like
a thief! Then they could talk of the
geraniums; their looks as compared to
last year, or the year before, or many
years before; or the frost; or how long
the tub of butter was going to last. Yes,
life was very interesting.
27

PARTNERS

The next morning it rained, and was
too damp for Mrs. Gedge to leave the
sitting-room stove, so she settled herself
by the window for a long day's knitting.
The stage came swinging and creaking
down the hill, and stood in front of the
post-office waiting for the mail-bag, the
four horses steaming in the rain. Mrs.
Gedge saw the young, red-faced driver
knock on the off -wheel with the handle
of his whip, and heard him call out:
" Morning, 'Mandy !" But Amanda did
not appear. "My! she ain't fast," the
old postmistress said, impatiently. But
the next minute her daughter hurried
out with the still lean bag in her arms,
and Oily Clough thrust it under his feet
on the toeboard. Then he flourished his
whip and went jolting slowly down to
the bridge to disappear behind the hill.
Mrs. Gedge could not imagine why
Amanda should stand there bareheaded
looking after him, apparently forgetful
of the rain. She scratched upon the
28

PARTNERS

window-pane with her knitting-needles
to attract her daughter's attention, but
Amanda did not seem to hear her;
she turned slowly and went back into
the office. It was ten minutes later
before she came into the sitting-room.

"What made you so slow, child?" de-
manded Mrs. Gedge. Mrs. Gedge kept
young by means of an unflagging ctirios-
ity about small happenings.

"Mother," said Amanda, "look at
that!'' She held up a letter as she spoke.

Mrs. Gedge stretched out her hand
for it eagerly, and holding it at arm's-
length, read the address: "'Arthur
Hamilton, Esq., Ptirham, Vermont.'
Well, child — ^but how did it come this
time of day? Oh, it was in the bag
yesterday, after all?"

Amanda was quite pale; she pushed
back a lock of hair from her high, bleak
forehead. "That's the letter he was in-
quiring after! — and it's back-stamped
day before yesterday, so he'U know
29

PARTNERS

when it came. It got shoved into one
of the low call boxes. My goodness!"
This burst of excitement really alarmed
Mrs. Gedge. "Why, child, you needn't
be so put out. He ain't in town. Didn't
I tell you he went away yesterday? I
don't know as I'd put it into his box,
anyhow. If he gets it he'll know it was
delayed, and then he'll fuss. I don't be-
lieve I'd give it to him, 'Mandy."

"Oh, mother, I don't hardly think
that would do," Amanda said, shocked.

"Well, perhaps it wouldn't," Mrs.
Gedge admitted, reluctantly. ' ' Course,
I wouldn't think of such a thing if it was
anybody else. But that man! He's
gone now, anyhow, and probably he's
found out what was in the letter by this
time, so he hasn't any need of it; and
you know he's had no experience in a
post-office; he don't understand how a
mistake could be made. — ^Well, I don't
see myself, 'Mandy, how could you get
that letter into the wrong hole!" Mrs.
30

PARTNERS

Gedge frowned a little. ' ' Teh !' ' she said.
It was all very well to call Amanda
her "partner," just in fun — ^but really!
However, there was no use scolding the
girl. " There, it isn't any matter, child ;
put it with his night mail."

"No; I must take it up to his house
now," said Amanda. "I'll have to
bundle you up and wheel you into the
office. It '11 take me an hour to go and
come, and the office can't be closed all
that time."

Mrs. Gedge did not half like it, she
said ; it was not right for the post-office
to wait on Mr. Hamilton by carrying
him his letters; it was trouble enough
to sort them out! Nevertheless she per-
mitted Amanda to take her across the
hall and place her on the official side of
the pigeonholes within reach of the
stamp-drawer and the letter-scales. If
anybody wanted gum-drops or writing-
paper they would have to help them-
selves, and bring her the change.
31

PARTNERS

When Amanda started up the hill
with Mr. Hamilton's letter, her large
freckled face was pale, and her anxious
eyes looked out from under a forehead
that was creased with worry. She was
so preoccupied that she forgot to raise
her umbrella — ^which did not matter
much because the rain could not greatly
increase the shabbiness of her hat.

It had rained since before dawn, and
the sycamores and lindens had given
up the few yellow leaves to which they
had clung since the last frost; the
ground was covered with them, and the
air was heavy with their dank aromatic
scent. The wheel ruts were full of
running yellow water. Amanda picked
her way carefully, but her Congress
gaiters were soaked above her over-
shoes, and even the white stockings on
her lean ankles were splashed. She said
to herself that she was glad it had not
rained yesterday — "tho' I'd have gone
up to Willie, anyhow," she said, simply.
32

PARTNERS

Then she thought of her wreath of im-
mortelles, and hoped the colors wouldn't
' ' run . " The glass over the tintype in the
headstone must be so spattered by this
pouring rain that Willie, in his uniform,
could not be seen. She would be glad
when she could have the crayon made.
She knew just where it was going to
hang in the sitting-room — right opposite
General Grant; she had a plan about
a cross of purple immortelles to place
above it. To think thus of Willie began
to smooth the worry out of her face.

By the time Mr. Hamilton's house was
in sight, she had gone through a calcula-
tion as to how long it would take her,
putting aside ten cents a week, to save
up the three dollars still lacking. Seven
months and two weeks! Well, to be on
the safe side, say eight months. Amanda
smiled, and forgot her apprehensions.
At Mr, Hamilton's door, a little out of
breath and honestly apologetic, she was
no longer worried. "John," she said to
33

PARTNERS

the man who answered her ring, "this
letter was overlooked. I'm real sorry."

"Well, now!" said John, amiably.
"When did it come? Yes, sir! it's that
Washington letter. Why, Miss Gedge,
he was lookin' for it two days ago. They
had to telegraph him to come on.
Lord! he kicked like a steer about it.
'Postal delays,' says he. Obliged to
you for bringin' it, miss."

Amanda did not reply; she was
gathering her skirts up under her water-
proof again, and shaking open her um-
brella.

"You might 'a' saved yourself the
trouble of climbing the hill," John ru-
minated; "he's fetched up in Wash-
ington by this time; so the letter ain't
needed, as you might say."

Amanda nodded, and went plodding
down the driveway, her tall body lean-
ing against the wind that twisted the
old rubber waterproof around her ankles
and beat her umbrella over side- wise;

PARTNERS

the barege veil hung wet and straight
across one shoulder. The cold misgiv-
ing had come back: "Postal delays;"
and Mr. Hamilton was in Washington!
Suppose he should find fault? — suppose
the Government should hear about the
"delay"? Of course their long and
friendly relations with the Post-ofhce
wotdd make an explanation simple
enough ; yet it was not pleasant to think
that Mr. Hamilton might speak of them
unkindly to some one in the Depart-
ment. She wished the President could
know what good Republicans they were.
She thought uneasily of that remark
of her mother's about "turning the
party out " ; it wasn't wise for people in
office to say a thing like that. It might
be repeated. And dear knows, she and
her mother were loyal! She had never
begrudged her father and Willie Boyce to
her country; she wished, if Mr. Hamil-
ton did say anything about the Purham
post-office, he would speak of the two
35

PARTNERS

soldiers. But of course he wouldn't.
Perhaps he didn't even know of them.
The wind suddenly twisted her um-
brella, and her face was wet with
rain.

CHAPTER III

WHEN Amanda had put on dry-
clothing she hurried into the
office, for there was much to do before
the arrival of the noon stage. What with
her work, and listening to Mrs. Gedge's
minute account of all that had tran-
spired in her absence, she had no time
before the mail came to tell her mother
of her anxieties. She listened with close
attention to every word of the small
happenings: Sally Goodrich had come
in for two stamps, and her five-cent piece
had rolled down in that crack by the
stove; but Mrs. Gedge had said, "Never
mind, Sally, you can have them just as
well"; for it was raining, as Amanda
knew, and Sally Goodrich at her age —
she was sixty-one, if she was a day —
4 37

PARTNERS

could not go back in the rain just for
four cents; besides, the money was
really in the post-ofSce, and if the floor
should ever be raised they would get
it. Mrs. Gedge, having been silent for
an hour, talked in a steady, cheerful
stream, broken only by Amanda's lit-
tle interjections of surprise and in-
terest.

But after dinner, which the noon mail
made as late as one o'clock, Amanda
could not help saying that she wished
that letter had belonged to anybody
on earth but Mr. Hamilton !

"Oh, you take it too much to
heart, child," Mrs. Gedge reassured her.
"Why, 'Mandy, he's only a summer
person; he's gone away now, and we
won't see or hear of him till next sum-
mer. I don't know why he stayed so
late this year, anyhow!"

"Well, maybe we wont," said Aman-
da, doubtfully; "but John seemed to
think he was dreadfully put out about
38

PARTNERS

it. He said he kicked. I suppose he
meant he stamped his foot."

"What if he did? It only shows he's
a bad-tempered man, that's all!"

"Yes; but — he's in Washington,
mother."

Mrs. Gedge did not see the connec-
tion for a moment, then suddenly she
looked concerned. "Well, now, Aman-
da, how could you overlook that letter?
Dear me, chUd, I don't see how you
did it ! Why, if he's in Washington, he
might say something. I tell you, I
wouldn't like that, 'Mandy!"

Amanda sighed. "Neither wotild I.
If there was any excuse — ^but there
isn't. It was — it was the fifteenth of
October, mother; you know? the day
before the — sixteenth. And I was sort
of dull. Well, I suppose I couldn't
write that to Washington?"

"Of course you could!" cried Mrs.
Gedge; "and if he should say anything,
I'd like them to know what a good ex-

PARTNERS

cuse we have." But though she spoke
bravely to Amanda, Mrs. Gedge did not,
in the bottom of her heart, feel quite
easy.

As the afternoon passed, darkening
into rainy dusk, she spoke once or twice
of the letter they might have to write
in case "that Hamilton man" should
make trouble for them. Suddenly, just
as they were sitting down to supper, her
face lightened: '"Mandy! I'll tell you
what would be a good thing, better than
waiting tiU the trouble's made, to tell
them about Willie: send a present, now!"

"To Mr. Htmter?" said Amanda.

Mr. Hunter was the gentleman whose
rubber stamp signed the occasional com-
munications from Washington, and to
whom they submitted their quarterly
accounts.

"I meant the President," said Mrs.

Gedge, doubtfully; "but I don't know

but what Mr. Hunter would be better.

Then, if that man should presume to

PARTNERS

say anything, Mr. Hunter would know
that our intentions were all right."

"Oh, mother, I don't know," Amanda
demurred. "Maybe we'd better not do
anything? Maybe he won't complain."

But Mrs. Gedge was positive. "No;
a present is friendly, and he's probably
a busy man, being in a big post-oflEice ;
so if he has a present from us, it will be
easier for him to keep us in mind as
being friendly."

Amanda pondered : * ' What could you
send him?"

"Oh, I've thought of that!" said Mrs.
Gedge, triumphantly. "Oily Clough
can get his friend in Boston to buy an
album — a blue velvet album like Sally
Goodrich's, with those steel trimmings
and clasps."

Even the hesitating Amanda was
stirred by that; then her face fell:
"Sally's album cost nine dollars and
ninety-five cents!"

Mrs. Gedge was dismayed. "Per-
41

PARTNERS

haps we needn't get such an expensive
one?"

"No; if we get any, it ought to
be a handsome one," Amanda said;
(of course, the crayon could not be
ordered this year — that was settled!)
"Well, mother," she said, bravely, "I'll
run into the office after supper and see
what money we've got to spare."

Mrs. Gedge's fear of Mr. Hamilton
vanished; the albtim would nullify any
complaints that a fussy "summer per-
son ' ' might make !

"Why, child," she said, putting down
the cup she had just raised to her
lips — "why, 'Mandy, suppose I was to
write a poem, and send it with the
album?"

Ever since Willie Boyce died, Mrs.
Gedge had meant to write another poem,
but there had been no occasion great
enough to inspire her.

"Well, now, that is a good idea,"
Amanda answered, proudly. "It would
42

PARTNERS

be real nice to send a poem with the
present."

And for the rest of the meal Mrs.
Gedge tried to find words that rhymed
with Hunter, but they were so scarce,
"and not real sensible," she said, that
she turned to "album;" but although it
rh3mied well enough with "dumb" and
"come;" she did not see just what
words she could get in in front of 'em.
Amanda tried to help her, but her heart
was not in it; she was listening to the
rain and thinking of the tintype under
the misty glass.

The next morning the matter was in-
trusted to Oily Clough. He had a
friend in Boston, — "a traveling com-
mission merchant," Oily called him —
who could be relied upon to select just
what was wanted. The only stipulation
was that the album should be blue. If
the commission merchant could find one
that had two fiags crossed on the clasp,
like Sally's, he was to get it, even if it
43

PARTNERS

cost a quarter more. He was to try,
however to find one just as good as
Sally's, for maybe a dollar less. Oily
was so hopeful that his friend could
economize that Mrs. Gedge checked him:

"You don't consider money, OUy,
when you're getting a present for a
friend."

After that there were many days of
expectation, for no one could teU when
OUy's friend would be able to fill the
order. In Mrs. Gedge's mind the reason
for making the present, had faded in the
excitement of the present itself. It had
been easier, no doubt, to forget the
reason, because Mr. Hamilton had not
come back to Ptirham. Indeed, when,
flushed with triumph, on the Wednes-
day following the first Monday in No-
vember, John called for the letters, he
told Mrs. Gedge that he was closing the
Hamilton house for the season; if any
more mail came for the family it was to
be forwarded to Washington.
44

PARTNERS

"We'll be there this winter," said
John, with an important air, "though of
course we won't get to work before the
fourth of March."

" My goodness !" said Amanda, to her-
self, "I'm thankful we're done with that
Hamilton man until next summer!"
She really breathed more freely, for ever
since John's betrayal of his master's
temper she had had a scared feeling that,
although the season was over and all
the summer people scattered, Mr. Ham-
ilton might, for some inconceivable
reason, come back to Purham and make
a scene. "I'd put him out of the office
with my own hands," she thought,
"rather than have him worry mother."
But now that Mr. Hamilton was to
be in Congress, he would not have
time to make trouble for Ptu-ham peo-
ple. Amanda did not say so, but she
wished they had not ordered the album;
it was an unnecessary expense.

It was not until well into December
45

PARTNERS

that the commission merchant attended
to Mrs. Gedge's commission. Then one
day, on the noon stage, the album came!
Oily handed in the mail-bag at the same
time, but no one could think of the
mail until the package from Boston had
been opened: — there it was! bound in
rich, bright blue plush, very soft and
deep, and with beautiftil oxidized clasps.
"It's handsome, I will say!" said OUy,
his big head in its fur cap blocking up
the delivery window; "my friend ain't
one for cheap goods." Everyone who
came for his or her mail, was called
upon to praise OUy's friend's judgment;
the delivery of letters was a secondary
consideration. Indeed, Purham dis-
played its good nature as well as its
patience, for neither Mrs. Gedge nor
Amanda confided the purpose of the
album. It was "a gift," they said;
and with that, Purham, admiring and
inconvenienced and curious, was forced
to be content. It was strange to see
46

PARTNERS

the official reticence of these two sim-
ple women, who, so far as their own
lives were concerned, had not a single
secret. Their reserve was the most
striking indication of their pride of office.

The people who had not received
any mail lingered longest, kicking their
steaming boots against the stove, and
waiting, as though in the hope that a
relenting afterthought on the part of the
postmistress might create a letter. But
when the last loiterer went tramping out
into the snow, the mother and daughter
gave themselves up to the contemplation
of their treasure. They took it into the
sitting-room, and placed it with almost
reverent care, on the crazy patchwork
cover of the table; they touched the
plush to see how soft it was, and studied
the pattern on the clasps, and counted
the pages. It was an exciting, indeed
an exhausting afternoon.

Sally Goodrich came in at dusk to
have a look at the album, the story of
47

PARTNERS

which had of course, reached her earlier
in the day. She was a Uttle conde-
scending at first, but its magnificence
overpowered her, and she confessed that
that it was far handsomer than her
own. She said that she presumed the
person it was for would be real pleased?
But the mother or daughter were not
flattered into giving information. They
were impatient to be alone, that they
might compose the letter which was to
accompany the gift.

They did not, however, get at it until
after tea; when they did, Mrs. Gedge
could not easily resign the idea of poetry.
But Hunter is not a poetical name. . . .

Mrs. Gedge began:

"This album, sir, I send to you —
To say your friends are always true;
We hope you'll use it, Mr. Hunter,
A nd — and

'"Mandy! can't you think of any-
thing that goes with Hunter?"
48

-I

X
n

>
o

o
11

I
m

>
r

PARTNERS

"I cannot," Amanda said, despair-
ingly; "try not putting it at the end."

They turned Mr. Hunter round and
round and back and forth, for nearly
an hour, before Mrs. Gedge gave up and
devoted herself to the sober prose of a
letter. It was half past nine when it
was finished, and the writer went to bed
weary, happy, and appalled at the late-
ness of the hour. Amanda, before she
got to bed herself, tucked the albtim up
in its box under a sheet of tissue-paper,
as tenderly as though it were a baby. It
lay oh the table at Mrs. Gedge' s bedside,
and when Amanda rose the next morn-
ing, she found her mother awake and
anxious for a look at it.

"I can't wait till I get dressed," the
old postmistress said, her eyes, under
the full ruffle of her nightcap, bright
with excited pride.

It was hard to part with the beautiful
thing, but it had to go on the noon stage,
and the letter, ftill of respectful assur-

PARTNERS

ances of regard, went with it. How the
thoughts of the contented donors fol-
lowed each step of its journey! Mrs.
Gedge was concerned about the weather;
she said that she hoped the snow
wouldn't drift badly on the hill-road;
Amanda would remember how OUy's
father's stage had upset on the hill-
road in the great storm twenty-two
years ago. In an accident like that, a
package could easily be lost, she said,
anxiously. She and Amanda calculated
the exact moment that it wovild reach
Washington, and the earliest date when
an acknowledgment could be looked for.
By this time — ^mid-December — Mrs.
Gedge had quite forgotten Mr. Hamil-
ton. Her life had too many pleasant
and interesting things in it to allow her
to think about a bad-tempered man,
who was nothing but a summer person
anyhow. Amanda's apprehensions had
vanished too, and she only remembered
them when she thought of the tintype
so

PARTNERS

in the slate headstone, or noticed the
vacant spot opposite General Grant.
Then she had a little pang because
propitiation had been necessary. Mrs.
Gedge would not admit that the album
had been propitiatory; it was only a
gift to an unknown friend. That the
friend's acknowledgment of the gift
seemed long in coming was a little dis-
appointing although it was easily ex-
plained: he might be away from home,
or perhaps there was sickness in his
family. But the acknowledgment cer-
tainly was long in coming, for the first
of January found Mr. Hunter's manners
still at fault.

Yet although the post-office had for-
gotten Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Hamilton re-
membered the post-office!

"I tell you, Philip," he said, one
evening, as he and a friend sat over
their wine after dinner — "I tell you, the
Post-office Department of this country
needs a tremendous shaking-up. Yes,
SI

PARTNERS

sir; heads have got to fall. I have a
summer house in that little place, Pur-
ham — ^you know? up in the hills. For
all practical purposes there is no post-
office there; outrageous carelessness and
endless inconvenience. But I intend to
do my part to secure a proper postal
service to my native land."

"At least during the summer?" com-
mented the other man.

"There's a good fellow, a good hus-
tling fellow, that I mean to have put
there," Mr. Hamilton went on. "Wil-
liam Sprague — ^you remember? He was
my substitute; he has a ball in his leg
now that belongs to me. I'm going to
have that job given to him, I ' ve always
meant to do something for him."

"Ah, how I respect a philanthropist!"
said his friend; "and how just it is
that, because he was your substitute in
the war, the nation should reward him!"

His host, laughing, knocked his cigar
ashes off against his wineglass. " Shore,

PARTNERS

we've been out in the cold for twenty-
four years, and we don't propose to keep
away from the fire to split the straws
of ethics. You may consider that state-
ment official."

"Is that the excuse you will give to
the present incumbent when you tip
him or her out?"

"Look here, my young reformer,"
protested the other man, "I advise you
to take off your kid gloves. These ideas
of yours are too damned fine for our
humble capital. Yes, sir; they will do
for your part of the world, and I am
sure we are grateful that the chaste
bosom of the mugwump should have
thrilled for us because of our highly
moral principles; but, my dear fellow,
now we have come down to business.
We are a great deal more honest than
the people you helped us put out, there
is no doubt of that; but we are human.
This may surprise you as you reflect
upon our virtues, but we admit it —
6 S3

PARTNERS

human. And how shall we dispose of
the present incumbents in Ptirham?"
He rose, with a laugh, straightening his
shoulders, and lifting his handsome head.
"No excuse but the truth is necessary.
They are hopelessly inefficient; a couple
of old maids, who hold back the mail-
bags, lose a man's letters, or deliver
them a week after they've arrived."
He laughed, and struck the younger man
good-nattiredly on the shoulder. "See
here, my boy, don't, by the fineness of
your theories, make yourself unfit for
practical life. Be as good as you can,
but, for the sake of yotu: theories, don't
be too good. Doesn't the Bible say
somewhere, don't be righteous over-
much? A printed notice of that ought
to be sent around to the mugwtimps!"

CHAPTER IV

IT does seem," Mrs. Gedge said,
when, toward the end of January,
no acknowledgment had come from Mr.
Hunter — "it does seem as though some-
thing had happened to that album."

"Well, mother, Oily saw it safe into
the express office; it must have got to
Washington, anyhow."

"You don't suppose," Mrs. Gedge
queried, in a troubled voice — "you don't
think Mr. Hunter could have thought it
was out of the way, us sending him a
present? 'Course we're strangers to
him."

"My, mother! of course he couldn't,"

Amanda assured her. "It's just as

you said last week — sickness in his

family or something like that, has put

PARTNERS

it out of his mind. We'll hear soon.
Now, don't you worry; it was a nice
gift, and will look pretty on his center-
table." They had followed the album
so closely with their fancy that they
knew quite well how it would look. Mrs.
Gedge had even said that she hoped his
wife was not a foolish yotmg thing, who
wovild put other books on top of it and
crush the plush.

Poor Amanda began to dread the
coming^ of the mail-bag, for each day
there was always the same hesitating
question: "Didn't any letter come this
noon, I suppose? I somehow didn't look
for one to-day."

"No, mother, not to-day;" then an
excuse: "He would have had to write
on Monday to reach us by this mail,
and Monday's a real inconvenient day;"
or, "It's the end of the month; very
likely he's real driven with his accounts."

They had written to the express office,
and learned that the package had been
S6

PARTNERS

delivered to Mr. Hunter's office, so they
could not have even the comfort of
thinking that it was lost. Day by day
Mrs. Gedge's assurance that she was
sure everything was all right, and that
she knew, in her position, "how hard
it was for some folks to write letters" —
day by day such assurances grew more
forced in their cheerfidness. When the
first of February passed, and the usual
official communication from Washing-
ton failed to bring with it any per-
sonal communication, Mrs. Gedge al-
most cried and Amanda said to herself
that she just couldn't stand it! Her
high forehead gathered new wrinkles in
those bleak winter days, and anxiety
gnawed at her heart, for it was quite
evident that the suspense was wearing
upon her mother.

One afternoon, coming home from

sewing - society, she stopped on the

bridge to watch the water racing down

the wide shallow bed of the brook, leap-

PARTNERS

ing tvimultuously over the larger stones,
and sending a faint continuous jar
through the hand-rail on which she
leaned. The ice, curving in and out
along the shore in clear and snowy lines,
was like an onyx band; the twigs of
a leaning maple, dipping into the water,
were fringed with icicles, that jangled
as they rose and fell on the current.
It was late, and the cold dusk, pricked
by some uncertain, hesitating pellets of
snow, seemed to Amanda to increase
the ache below her breast-bone. She
watched a flake touch, the stream for a
white moment, then fade into its hur-
rying blackness. Amanda did not con-
sciously moralize, but the futile flakes
suggested her own inarticulate pain.
She, too, was helpless in the stream;
there was nothing she cotild do. Noth-
ing — nothing! "Oh, that old album!
I'd like to bum it!" she said, passion-
ately. Suddenly it occurred to her that
she might tell her mother that probably

PARTNERS

Mr. Hunter was dead. If he was dead
he was not neglectftil, so her mother's
feehngs need not be hurt. Amanda, in
the gathering darkness, wiping away a
meager tear, would have seen Mr. Hun-
ter and all his family, dead and buried,
if their demise would make her mother
happier!

She did not propose Mr. Hunter's
death as a solution of the puzzle, until
the next morning; then Mrs. Gedge's
concern about the Sixth Auditor of the
Treasury was almost as alarming as her
previous suspense, and Amanda had a
desperate feeling of not knowing in
which direction to turn next.

The wind was high and cold that day,
although the sun shone; but Mrs. Gedge
was so disturbed about Mr. Hunter, she
said she believed she wouldn't get up;
she said the glare of the sun on the snow
hurt her eyes, and she'd rather lie in bed.

Amanda's heavy heart grew still
heavier. "She's failing!" she said to
59

PARTNERS

herself. "I guess he's well, mother,"
she declared; "It was real foolish for
me to think he wasn't. Why, they'd
have sent us word if an3^hing had hap-
pened to him.

"Well, then, why don't we hear from
him?"

"I guess we will, real soon," poor
Amanda tried to sooth her.

"You don't think anybody thinks
anything, do you, 'Mandy? You never
let on to anybody — Sally Goodrich or
anybody — ^that the album was for Mr.
Hunter, and he hasn't written to us?"

"No, mother; no, indeed! There
isn't a person that guesses. Nobody
but Oily saw the address, and he don't
know who Mr. Htmter is; he don't
know but what he's a relation."

There were no demonstrations of
affection between these two; it would
not have occurred to Amanda to kiss
her mother, but she took her little blue
check shawl from about her own shoul-
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ders and laid it across Mrs. Gedge's feet.
"I'll be back from the office as soon as
ever I can," she said. She hurried so in
sorting the mail that she was not so
much as usual on the lookout for a
Washington letter — ^when suddenly she
found it in her hand ! Her heart seemed
to stop with the shock of joy — it had
come! Her mother would feel better!
" Oh, she '11 get up for dinner!" Amanda
said, with a gasp of happiness.

The outer door of the office banged
open, and Oily entered again. "Here's
a bundle for you, 'Mandy," he said;
"I clean forgot to leave it when I hove
in the bag."

She raised the delivery window and
took the package, which was addressed
to her mother; she was putting the mail
into the caU-boxes, all the while holding
the precious letter tightly in one hand,
so she pushed the bundle aside. "It's
some blanks, I guess," she thought. It
seemed to Amanda that Sally Good-
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rich was never so slow in getting her
purse out of the pocket of her petticoat
to pay for a sheet of writing-paper; nor
was Mr. Thyme, who kept the tavern,
ever so insistent that there ought to be
some inquiries about summer board, and
he didn't see why there weren't no
letters for him.

In spite of these delays, Amanda was
smiling with happiness when it struck
her that the package was a present from
Mr. Hunter! — she could hardly wait for
Mr. Thyme to close the post-office door,
before she seized the bundle and the
letter, and ran into her mother's room.
"It's come!" she said; "he's written!
And he's sent us something — ^look! a
present !' ' The rush of forgiveness made
her voice break, but Mrs. Gedge was
wonderfully calm. The old sense of her
importance gave her at least the appear-
ance of treating Mr. Hunter's courtesy
as a matter of course.

"I hope he didn't feel under any
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obligation to give us a present, kind as
it is in him. Open the letter first, and
see what he says. Hurry, child!"

Amanda's fingers blundered with the
envelope; she began to read the letter
breathlessly — paused; looked at her
mother, blankly; then read on:

"'Mr. Hunter desires to acknowledge
the receipt of a package from Mrs. Gedge,
for which he begs to express his thanks.
He regrets that he must herewith return
the package, his position precluding the
acceptance of gifts.' "

Mrs. Gedge leaned back on her pil-
lows, fright and bewilderment in her face.
'"Mandy, it's our album," she said.
" Oh, 'Mandy!" Her cheeks seemed to
hollow in, and her chin shook. "It's our
album," she whispered.

Amanda Gedge stood panting, the
letter in her shaking hand. "Why,
mother! wait! I don't believe it's the
album; wait till I look!" But when she
had looked, alas, there was no more
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uncertainty, and she turned to the letter
again. "Mother, don't cry! There's
some mistake — " (Amanda was crying
herself.) "I think he's friendly; let me
read it again. Listen, mother: he begs
to express his thanks — begs, mother.
Oh, I'm sure he's friendly. He regrets
— ^that means he is very sorry; regret
means being sorry. It is his position,
the letter says, that makes him return
it. And — ^and he tells the person who
wrote the letter for him, to send his
thanks. You see, he's so busy he can't
even write himself."

But the shock was too great for Mrs.
Gedge to be able to see any "friendli-
ness" in the letter written by "another
person." She dropped her worn old
face on the pillow and whimpered.
"Take it away," she said, feebly; and
Amanda carried the album into the
kitchen. She was so excited and fright-
ened, so angry that her mother's gift
had been scorned, that she touched the
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only note of passion that had ever come
into her life. She flung the rejected
present on the table, and struck it with
her clenched fist, saying, under her
breath, a single word. The word was
only " You!'' but as far as the spirit
went, Amanda broke the Third Com-
mandment.

It was several days before Mrs. Gedge
could consider the letter reasonably, but
little by little she began to echo, at first
rather feebly, Amanda's assurance that
Mr. Hunter was " friendly." Then she
became quite positive: "Of coiirse it's
his position, ' ' she said ; "I ought to have
thought of that, in the first place! I
guess he hated to send it back, but he
just had to."

Meantime March was blown into
April; it had been a hard month for
Mrs. Gedge, what with the agitation
about the album and the changes in the
temperature. But the old postmistress
was not the only person who found the
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season trying. William Sprague said to
Mr. Hamilton, who stopped to see him
one day at his news-stand in Boston— he
told Mr. Hamilton that he felt that old
wound in his leg in such changeable
weather; why, he believed that he could
foretell a storm as much as three days
before it came; he said he didn't know
but what he'd offer his services to the
Weather Bureau in Washington! Mr.
Hamilton laughed in his easy way, and
said he shouldn't wonder if William
would be the better for a change of air.
"But the Washington climate is bad for
game legs, Sprague; what do you say to
Vermont?" Then he said a dozen words
that left his hearer aghast with pleasure.
"And I'm to be ready the last of
May, sir?" William said, eagerly, when
Mr. Hamilton's beneficent scheme had
been fully explained to him. ' ' All right,
sir, all right! I'll be on hand. There's
not much for me to do in the way of
shutting up shop. I'll just sell out and
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pack up my duds. I haven't any furni-
ture now my poor wife's dead and gone.
I auctioned it off."

William Sprague's honest face was red
with excitement. He was a short, stout
man, with kindly, twinkling blue eyes
and a grizzled, red beard. He wore a
G. A. R. badge, and walked with a
limp; he was stiff with rheumatism,
but was never too crippled or too hur-
ried to stop to do a kindness — pick up
a fallen child and comfort it with a
penny, or walk an extra mile to do a
favor for a friend. Yet people were apt
to say he was contrary, and cite as an
instance his long feud with McCor-
mick, his rival on the next block — a
warfare waged with the greatest bitter-
ness on Sprague's side, and furnishing
much pleasant interest to those not
concerned in it.

"William was like to kill him, till
McCormick got the fever," Sprague's
friends said, "and then, dam him! he
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up and nursed him for six weeks.
Wasn't that the contrariest thing ye
ever heard of?"

The fact was William Sprague liked
to do a kindness; but it was a question
whether he could do a kindness if it were
expected of him. "I won't be drov',"
said William; and he never was.

"I'll feel bad to leave some of my
old comrades," he told Mr. Hamilton;
"but I'm obKged to you, sir, I'm obliged
to you. There's nothing I'd Kke better
than to run a post-office. You can
count on my vote when you're runnin'
for President. I bet we'll see you in
the White House yet! Take a paper,
Mr. Hamilton; take a Herald.'" He
folded a paper and thrust it into the
hand of his patron. "No, sir! not a
cent! I guess I can give you a paper;
and a good Democratic organ, too!"

He laughed, and so did Mr. Hamil-
ton.

" Much obliged, Sprague. Well, good
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morning! I shall expect to see you
settled when I get up to my country
place in July." Then he stooped and
patted Jimmy, William's rusty little
Scotch terrier, and went away.

William Sprague was, as Mr. Hamil-
ton said, a capable, efficient man. He
went to work to wind up the affairs
of his news-stand with business-like
promptitude. He drove a sharp bargain
with the man who bought him out, and
cleared ten dollars by the sale of odds
and ends about his small premises.

"I'd meant to pitch 'em into the ash
bar'l," he confided to one of his cronies,
"but of course I didn't tell him so; he
saw me packin' 'em up, and that made
him hot for 'em!" He winked and
chuckled, then whistled to a newsboy
across the street: "Sonny, if you'll
bring in a dozen of the fellows to-night.
I '11 give you a treat."

And he did. "He come down hand-
some," the boys said, afterward, with

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ice-cream — two kinds ; and three dough-
nuts apiece.

The days of waiting for his appoint-
ment went slowly to William Sprague,
but they were passing with placid haste
to Mrs. Gedge, who by that time had
become entirely reconciled to her own
explanation of Mr. Hunter's ungracious
behavior.

CHAPTER V

MAY was very lovely among the
hills. The sunshine, threaded by
sudden showers, or chased by cloud
shadows and warm winds, lay like a
smile upon the Purham meadows. The
lilac buds opened into green stars, with
that faint, indefinable fragrance which
the later purple blossoms exaggerate
almost into coarseness. The brook was
high, and the whirling brown waters
shook the wooden bridge in a threatening
way ; the red buds of the leaning maple
dipped into the flood, and strained and
tugged at their stems as though trying
to be off on its turbulent freedom; all
the world was full of joyous life and
promise.

One blue, still afternoon Amanda
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Gedge went up to the burying-ground
on the hill to brush away the sheltering
dead leaves on Willie's grave, and plant
a root of lilies of the valley. The sun
was warm on the slope, and although it
was indiscreet for a person who was
over forty and rheumatic, Amanda,
after she had performed her little office
of love, spread out her shawl and sat
down on the grass to meditate. Some-
thing must be done about the tintype:
The bit of glass that covered it was badly
spotted with mildew; she must take it
off and clean it, and wipe the tintype
very carefully. The thought of holding
the picture in her hand after all these
years gave her a thrill ; and the pleasure
of doing even such a little thing for
Willie, was a phantom of the pleasure
she would have known had she been
his wife and been able to serve him.
She smoothed the grass where, under
the sheltering dead leaves, it had whit-
ened to a silky smoothness, and she
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hoped the lily root would grow. Willie
had loved flowers — except toward the
end; he had not loved anything at the
end. One day when she carried him a
bunch of cardinal flowers, he had turned
fretfully away and told her not to bother,

"Willie was so sick," she said to her-
self, pitifully ; but she wondered if sick-
ness could have made her careless of
any flowers Willie might have brought
her ? " No , " she said to herself, ' ' I would
have loved them, no matter how sick
I was. But I'm a girl ; girls are different
from men." She put her arm around
the slate stone, and touched his name
with her lips. "Good-by, Willie," she
said, softly. Amanda always said good-
by to him when she left him alone
on the hillside. She knew that Willie
was in heaven, but somehow he seemed
here, too, under the leaning piece of
slate and the bleached winter grass.

When she got back to the post-office,
tired, but full of the peace of the calm
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sweet afternoon, her mother had a dozen
small happenings to report. Amanda
listened to everything with keen inter-
est; and not until all the gossip was
repeated and commented upon did she
confide her plan about the glass over
the tintype. Mrs. Gedge agreed that
it was the thing to do, though it would
cost money to get that glass out of the
lead that held it into the stone.

"You are certainly faithftil, 'Mandy !"
she said; Amanda smiled. "I guess,"
Mrs. Gedge went on, "feeling the way
you do, you'll never marry." Amanda
laughed outright. "But it's a pity for
a girl to be an old maid! Still, I like
to have you faithful to your beau.
But my gracious, what would you have
done if you'd been left like me, if you
take on so, and Willie only your beau?"
Amanda was silent.

It was too dark to knit, but Mrs.
Gedge saw her daughter, who was sort-
ing the mail, put aside an official letter;
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instantly she wanted to know what was
in it. " Do make haste !' ' she said. ' ' My,
you ain't real quick, 'Mandy. I wonder
if they are going to change the stamps!
They're not pretty — the stamps."

Amanda looked over her shoulder to
say, "H-s-sh;" — the Public must not
overhear an official criticism! But she
took time to give her mother the letter,
for though Mrs. Gedge cotild not read it
in the fading light by the window, and
Amanda had the lamp to assist her in
sorting the mail, it was a satisfaction to
the old postmistress to hold it in her
crippled hands. As soon as her public
duties had been discharged, Amanda
opened the envelope.

"I can't stop to talk," she said, with
her official smile, to two or three women
who were waiting to gossip with her at
the delivery window, "because I must
attend to some Washington business;"
and, properly impressed, the ladies cotild
only talk to each other.
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"Read it, child, read it!" said her
mother, impatiently.
Amanda read:

Madam, — It is deemed for the best interests
of the service that a change be made in the
post-office at Purham. Yoiir resignation will,
therefore, be accepted, to take effect on the ist
day of June. Yours truly,

The name that followed Amanda did
not know.

"Why, I don't understand," said Mrs.
Gedge. "What does it mean?"

Amanda stared at her; then grew a
little faint, and sat down.

" But I don't understand," her mother
repeated, in a dazed way.

' ' Don't ! — they'll hear, ' ' Amanda whis-
pered.

'"Mandy?" the terrified old voice
whispered back.

Without a word, Amanda wrapped her
shawl about the little, shrinking figure,
and opened the door into the hall.

"I'm going to wheel mother into the
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PARTNERS

sitting-room," she called to the women
who were standing by the counter.

Her voice was husky, and there was
a swift precision in her manner, which
they noticed and commented on. They
said they supposed that Amanda Gedge
was getting real worried about the old
lady, and no wonder, either. They
waited a good while, hoping that she
would return; but as she didn't, they
said it was lucky they were there, for
Mrs. Dace came hurrying in to buy
a stamp, and there was a good deal
of giggling about "being the post-
mistress," for, rather than bother
'Mandy, they went behind the pigeon-
holes themselves, and in the most
obliging way in the world, opened the
stamp-box and received Mrs. Dace's
two pennies just as well as 'Mandy her-
self could have done. Then, laughing,
they went off into the twilight, leaving
the old post-office in dusky quiet, its
door standing hospitably open.
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It was nine o'clock before Amanda
Gedge came back. She closed the door,
turned the lamp down low, and dropped
into a chair. With her face hidden in her
hands, she went all over the last three
hours: her mother's bewilderment and
terror; the shock to her pride, a pride
which seemed, Amanda had thought,
watching the old face wither and whiten
— to be her life; then the struggle to
find an explanation, and at last the
rally of courage when Mrs. Gedge cried
out suddenly that she knew what the
letter meant! The relief of her own
insight was for a moment almost too
great for words. "The best interests
of the service," she said, with a gasp;
"for our interests, 'Mandy; don't you
see? It is just consideration! They
think I'm too old for such hard work.
That's it, I know it is. It's kindness.
But, 'Mandy, child, you go right in to
the office, and write to the President;
it's no use wasting time on the help —
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go to the highest-up person — ^go to
the President of the United States!
You write to him; tell him I am not
too old to work for the Government;
of course that's what they think — ^you
can see that from the letter; they think
I'm too old, and they give me the
chance to resign. Well, you say I am
obliged, but it isn't necessary. You
see, they think the work is too much
for me. Oh, don't let the President
think I don't appreciate it, but tell him
to tell the Postmaster it isn't neces-
sary; tell him I could not think of
giving up my job. Why, I couldn't de-
sert the Government after these twenty
years! And explain to him how much
you are able to do now you are older.
Tell him I call you my "partner" —
just as a joke. Write pleasant, 'Mandy.
You know you were young when I got
the place, and they have forgotten that
you are older now." She looked up at
her daughter, and actually laughed with
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PARTNERS

relief. "My! it did give me a start!
But you see what it means?"

"Oh, yes," Amanda assured her;
"why, of course." Her whole body was
quivering, but she managed to keep her
voice steady; the childishness of the
explanation was a shock to her; but she
could not stop to realize its full signifi-
cance. "We won't resign," she was
saying to herself; "that's all there is to
it; we won't!" Aloud, she said coura-
geously: "It's all right, don't you
worry!"

"'Course I won't worry," Mrs. Gedge
retorted; "there's nothing to worry
about ! You write that letter just as I
told you."

"Yes, mother, soon as I get you to
bed," Amanda promised.

But now alone in the dark office she
faced the facts :

"They will 'accept' mother's resigna-
tion. We have got to get out. But we
won't! It's Mr. Hamilton did it. Oh,
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that man! Well, we won't resign. I'll
write and tell them so, and very likely
we'll never hear anything more about
it. But at any rate, we won't resign.'"
She would never forgive Mr. Hamilton,
she was sure of that. The blow to
her mother — Amanda's shoulders shook
as she sat there, her head on her knees,
swaying to and fro with misery — the
shock to Mrs. Gedge was too great to
be forgiven. "Oh, if I only hadn't lost
his letter! It's my fatilt; it's all my
fatilt; I'm to blame, not mother — "

After a while she sat up, drawing a
long, quivering breath; she must not
waste any more time; she must write
the letter explaining that Mrs. Gedge
was much obliged, but did not care to
avail herself of the kindness of the Gov-
ernment, and therefore would not re-
sign. This was the letter to the Presi-
dent, for Mrs. Gedge to sign. Then, on a
sheet of thin pink paper, with a print of
a rose in the upper left-hand comer,
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came the real letter — Amanda's self-
accusation. She wrote with passionate
haste, unlike her usual labored corre-
spondence with the department. ' ' Oh, ' '
she was saying to herself, "even if they
did mean it kindly, as mother thinks, it
may kiU her. But they didn't mean it
kindly — they want to put us out! Oh,
that Hamilton man — "

When, at last, the letter written, she
took up her lamp, she suddenly remem-
bered the flag. She had not lowered the
flag! Never, in all these years, had she
forgotten the flag for which her father
and her lover had died! As she stood
in the darkness, letting the halyards
slip through her fingers until the stars
and stripes came softly down into her
extended arms, Amanda felt the full
agony of loss — they would take the flag
away from her!

Mrs. Gedge's prim refusal to accept
the suggestion made by the department,
and Amanda's poor, passionate letter,
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went off the next morning. As days
passed without any answering communi-
cation from Washington, Amanda grew
calmer than she had thought she could
be while this cruel uncertainty was hang-
ing over her. As for Mrs. Gedge, she
began to gather an immense amotmt of
comfort and pride from what she chose
to regard as an expression of Govern-
mental consideration. She told Amanda
that she really wished the Public knew
of it. She didn't want to be proud, she
said, but it was gratifying, and she
almost wished Sally Goodrich knew it.
The innocent importance cut Amanda
to the heart. "Oh, she ain't herself,"
she thought, quaking. Aloud, she only
said it wouldn't do to tell folks about
it. "Maybe you're right," Mrs. Gedge
said, reluctantly; "we're not like ordi-
nary people; we can't tell our affairs."
Although the refusal to resign had
apparently been accepted in Washing-
ton without a protest — ^for no response
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was made to the two letters — ^Amanda
found herself counting the days until
the 1st of June. She did not know why.
She only felt that something was going
to happen then. But those soft spring
days brightened Mrs. Gedge wonder-
fully — the weather, and the quiet of
her mind, for, not hearing from the
President, the shock of the letter she
had at first so grievously misunderstood,
faded entirely from her memory. Her
f orgetfulness gave poor Amanda another
pang.

The second week in May Mrs. Gedge
said that, although she felt better, she
believed she would not go into the office
for a few days; the being wheeled over
made her bones ache, and she'd just as
lief stay in the sitting-room, she said.
But from her window she could still
watch the world; and one day, when
the stage came rtimbling up at noon,
she saw a man on the box-seat at OUy's
side, who roused her curiosity. When
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her daughter came in to get dinner, she
spoke of him.

"He was real pleasant-looking," she
said, as Amanda pushed her chair up
to the table; "real pleasant, but big;
though he ain't to blame for that.
Who do you think he can be? He had
a little dog sitting up beside him, like
a little deacon! I like to see a man
friendly with a dog. He isn't the sew-
ing-machine man ; maybe he's a dentist ?"

"Or a book agent," suggested Aman-
da. "I like book agents, they have so
much conversation. Sometimes I think,
if I'd the money, I'd buy one of their
books, they do talk so nice about 'em."

" He looked up at the flag, and waved
his hand. I guess he's been a soldier,"
Mrs. Gedge commented.

"Guess likely," Amanda agreed.

"When Mr. Thyme comes in, child,
you be sure and ask who he is. It's
too early for a summer boarder."

It was delightful to have a new

7 S.q

PARTNERS

topic of conversation. William Sprague,
"cleaning himself" before a small mir-
ror in the office at the tavern, had no
idea how much pleasure his advent had
given. William's coming to Purham
thus early was simply because his im-
portant happiness demanded some kind
of action. The day that Mrs. Gedge
had been notified that her resignation
would be accepted, a communication
had come to William Sprague, showing
the reverse side of that notification.
He read his Washington letter a dozen
times a day for sheer pleasure; and
each day the ist of Jtme seemed farther
off! He packed his trunk at once, and
when he had had a week of inconven-
ience in unpacking and repacking when-
ever he wanted anything, it occiured to
him that the best thing he could do
would be to take Jimmy and go to Pur-
ham, and while waiting for the ist of
June, become acquainted with the place
and the people.

PARTNERS

"It's two weeks before I go into
office," he told his friends, "but I'll be
learning the ropes, and get a good grip
on my job."

He was as ftdl of enthusiasm and of
plans for reform in what he knew noth-
ing about, as was Mr. Hamilton him-
self. He took it for granted, after the
manner of all new brooms, that every-
thing in Purham was in the most shock-
ing condition of neglect and dilapida-
tion. Yes, the sooner he got there and
looked about him, and investigated the
poor, feeble, inefficient post-office, the
better ! So, one fine morning, with only
the delay of carting his trunk to the
station, William Sprague hurried off to
his kingdom; in the afternoon, on the
box-seat beside Oily Clough, with Jimmy
between his knees, he went swinging and
creaking along the hilly roads toward
Purham.

He did not tell Oily who he was; he
preferred the sensation of coming into
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his kingdom in disguise. But he was
very gracious; he complimented the
country that stretched before him, in
terms which intimated a wilHngness to
overlook any mistakes on the part of
the Creator; he thought the houses
seemed comfortable, and he said that
the barns were quite a size; he admitted
that it had apparently rained consider-
able, but he felt that it did good, a big
rain ; it made him stiff in his joints, but
it did good, and he wasn't one to com-
plain. By and by he approached the
subject of Purham.

"Pretty place?"

Oily looked vacant. " I ain't thought
about its being purty."

"Large population?" Mr. Sprague
inquired.

"Sizable."

William Sprague cleared his throat

and seemed much interested in the off

leader. "Good mare that? Yes? Ha

— ^hum; the post-office, now" — this with

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striking indifference — "quite a job to
run it?"

Oily endeavored to conceal his pride.
"She's fair," he conceded, "fair. You
don't see none better 'an her in the
city."

William said city horses weren't in
the mare's class; then he tried to woo
Oily back to the post-office: "Needs
brains to run an office?" The stage-
driver was plainly not interested.

"Never heard any complaint of
'Mandy," he said.

"'Mandy?"

"She and her mother run it; been
there since the war."

"Well!" said William, much inter-
ested. "What are they goin' to do?"

"Do?" said Oily, puzzled.

"When the change is made. The
other party is in now, and their men are
gettin' the jobs."

Olly's chuckle came as though jolted
out of him. "Well, I gueSs nobody
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won't get old Mis' Gedge's job in our
post-office!" He paused to silently-
wave his whip at the green expanse of
the valley below them. Oily thought
it was good farming land himself, but
the summer visitors made a fuss about
the "view," as they called it, so he al-
ways pointed it out to any passenger
on the box-seat.

"Pretty fair, pretty fair," said Wil-
liam, absently watching a cloud shadow
chase across the meadows.

They rumbled along for nearly a mile
without a word, the new postmaster feel-
ing vaguely uncomfortable; then Oily
broke out:

"Why, look a' here. They ain't got
a cent, 'Mandy and her mother. If
they weren't in the office, they'd be on
the town. Talk about puttin' people
in over 'Mandy and the old lady! I
guess they'd wish they wasn't put in.
I guess they'd be considerable put out!"
Oily laughed at this joke several times
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during the next hour. "Put in, put
out," he repeated, chuckling.

His passenger frowned silently.
"There!" he was saying to himself, "I
am sorry for the women; but it ain't
for me to say anything. I'll do my
duty, that's all I'm here for. The
women ain't my business. But it's
queer they haven't told this young man
about the change. I should think they'd
tell him, sure, seein' he carries the
mail."

He had no inclination now to disclose
his identity to Oily; he was distinctly
depressed. "I don't want no ill-will
among the people," he thought.

When they turned into Main Street
and drew up at the post-office, he
glanced about curiously while Oily car-
ried in the mail; then, looking up, he
saluted the flag hanging limp in the
warm stillness. "I like folks to be
patriotic," he said, in a loud whisper.
He had decided not to call at the office
91

PARTNERS

until he had gone to the tavern and
cleaned up. That done, however, and a
comfortable dinner disposed of, he put
on his broad-brimmed felt hat and went
with a roll and a limp and Jimmy close
at his heels, down to the office.

It was three o'clock, and Main Street
was quite deserted; the door of the
post-office was partly open, and William
saw a tall, angular woman standing
behind the counter trying to fit one of
pasteboard boxes into its niche on the
shelf without wrenching its feeble joints.
At his step she turned with a pleased
look. "He hasn't a bag, only a dog,"-
Amanda said to herself; "what can he
be? Veter'nary, maybe."

"Good afternoon," said the caller,
taking off his hat, then putting it on his
head again. " How do you do, ma'am?"

"Good afternoon," returned Amanda.
"Fine day, sir."

"Well, yes, it is; it is," William
agreed.

PARTNERS

"Are you stopping in town, sir?" the
postmistress asked. She was not sur-
prised that the stranger had called at
the office; except the church, it was
the most important place in Purham.
Amanda was always gracious, if a little
formal, to people who came to pay
their respects. She patted Jimmy's
head as he stood on his hind legs and
sniffed at the counter. The little dog's
patient brown eyes made her think of
Ponto.

"Well, yes," said William, blankly;
"I am. Yes, I— I—"

"On business, I presume. What is
your line?" said Amanda, wishing to be
agreeable ; ' ' dentistry ? ' '

"Well, no," said the caller, frowning
very much; "no, I can't say I am a
dentist, exactly; no. I came down to
call, ma'am, on you. You are Mrs.
Gedge, I presume. I understand you
run this office?"

Amanda Gedge's heart stood still.

PARTNERS

"The post-office belongs to mother,"
she said, faintly.

"Yes, just so; so I understood," said
William Sprague. "Well, perhaps you
weren't looking for me before the first
of the month, but I thought I'd come.
I thought I'd get to know the place,
ma'am."

William sighed with embarrassment,
and wiped his forehead. He wished he
had a bit of stick and his knife, then he
would not have to look at her. The
slow whitening of her face, the tremor
of her lips as she tried to speak, her
hands clutching the edge of the counter
until the knuckles were white, were all
terrible to him. It was like seeing some
dumb creature tortured.

"I don't know — what you mean," she
said, in a whisper.

"Well, I'm the new postmaster, you

know," William said, bending down to

pull Jimmy's ears so that he need not

see her face; "and I came to Purham

PARTNERS

a little ahead of time so as I could —
maybe you'd— I've no experience and
I thought — ' ' He stammered with pity ;
her rigid face, and wide, terror-stricken
brown eyes were too much for him.
"I hope you are well, and your ma,
too," he ended, weakly.

"You will kill mother," said Amanda.

"Ma'am?"

"You will kill her if you turn her out
of her post-office."

William Sprague shuffled his feet
noisily on the floor; then took off his
hat and seemed to scan it critically.
"I ain't responsible. Miss Gedge; I was
sent here. The department decided to
make a change, I suppose, and I was
sent here. I didn't ask for the place."

"You must go away," Amanda said.

WiUiam's eyes glistened. "This is
the cussedest business I was ever in,"
he said, under his breath. "Poor girl!
Poor thing!" He felt something roll
down his cheek, and that helped him
95

PARTNERS

to be angry. "Well," he said, sternly,
"this ain't your afifair, nor mine. I'm
sent. I can't help it. I'm to be in on
the first day of June. I'll go away till
then. I'd just as lief as not clear out
till the first, if it will oblige you any;
honest, I would."

"You don't understand," Amanda
explained, breathlessly. " You mustn't
come back — ever. Mother's been here
twenty years. If she was put out, she
would die. She would be on the town;
but the worst thing to her, the thing that
would kill her, would be to be put out.
Oh, go away! You can come back
when she dies. It won't be — very long.
Oh, go — go!'' Amanda swayed a little
and sank forward over the counter, hid-
ing her face in her outstretched arms.
She sobbed aloud.

Again William wiped his brow.

Amanda lifted her large face, quiver-
ing with tears. "Mother's been here
twenty years — twenty years !" She held
96

PARTNERS

out entreating hands to him, as if beg-
ging for mercy.

WilUam Sprague stamped across the
post-office and back. "Well, ma'am,
I'm sorry. I don't mind sayin' I'm
sorry. I — I — I'm damned sorry! But
I don't see what I can do about it. If
I wasn't here, somebody else would be.
And — well, I'm put here, and I'm one
that stays where I'm put, when it's my
duty."

"Mother's done her duty," said
Amanda.

"I ain't a-questionin' that, of course,"
William assured her. "She's all right.
But the party has changed. The
Democrats are in. Now you and
your mother ain't Democrats, so — out
you go!"

"What!" cried Amanda, looking at
him with sudden hope. "Not Demo-
crats? Good gracious, if that's the trou-
ble, we'll be Democrats right off! It
doesn't make a mite of difference to us.
97

PARTNERS

We'd just as lief be Democrats. So you
can go away right off!"

"My Lord!" said William Sprague,
despairingly.

"If they had only told us," said
Amanda, "we'd have changed in No-
vember."

"Well, ma'am," the visitor said,
sighing, "I guess I'll go up to the hotel
and rest a bit; maybe we can talk
it over later in the evening. I'll come
in after supper, and talk it over with
you and your mother." William was
actually fatigued with the hopelessness
of the situation.

"No, we can't talk before her,"
Amanda said. "She mustn't know any-
thing about it. After the mail's in, I'll
walk down to the bridge, and if you'll
be there, I'll explain why we can't leave
the office, and you'll understand, and go
away."

CHAPTER VI

THE meeting at the bridge was pro-
ductive of nothing but another talk;
after which William decided that his
offer to leave Purham until the ist of
June was unwise. "I've got to stay and
face the music," he told himself, grimly.
The "music" was Amanda's protesting
despair, and his way of facing it was to
urge her to be "reasonable." "There's
no way out of it," William told her, sym-
pathetically. " You can't buck the
United States Government!" He made
this so clear to the Public, that in a very
short time Mrs. Gedge was the only
person in Purham who did not under-
stand the situation; but everybody
united with her daughter in concealing
it from her.

PARTNERS

Mr. Sprague was so sympathetic, in
spite of his determination to "have the
place" that he was not very much dis-
liked. He made everybody understand
that he was the unwilling tool of cir-
cumstances; he could not help himself.
"For," as he explained a dozen times
a day, "if I didn't come, somebody
else would, and it would be just as bad
on 'Mandy." (He had adopted the
customs of the village at once, and
called everybody by their first names.)

A week of protest and insistence
slipped by; to Amanda it was a long
daze of terror; to the new postmaster it
was pitiful but inevitable. He was as
kind as possible to Amanda; one day he
presented her with a little blue glass
dish, in the shape of a shell, and the next
he gathered a btmch of wild flowers —
London-pride and dog-tooth violets and
Quaker-ladies, handing them in to her
through the delivery window. Amanda
accepted them listlessly. She explained

lOO

PARTNERS

to her mother that the gentleman who
was stopping up at the tavern — "that
big red man you saw on the stage, who •
comes to the office 'most every day
with his dog" — ^he had given her the
flowers, she said.

With this new interest Mrs. Gedge
revived Hke some poor, faded flower,
that looks up for a moment in the rain.
"Why, child," she said, "you've got a
beau! I think you might ask him in
some time, 'Mandy, to see me."

William Sprague made the same sug-
gestion. "I'd like to see your ma,
'Mandy; 'course, I won't say a word to
her, but I'd just like to see how the
land lays."

So Amanda had no choice but to
arrange a meeting. "Will you come in
this afternoon?" she said, dully.

"You bet I will!" said William.

Mrs. Gedge, when she heard that he
was coming, was filled with excited
hospitality. "Now 'Mandy, you just

g lOI

PARTNERS

get to work and dust up. Now, come,
child, be spry! He'll be here before you
know it. Dear! if I only had my legs!"
She sighed, for Amanda, duster in hand,
moved slowly about in heavy silence.
"That's the way with girls now-a-days!"
Mrs. Gedge thought, impatiently; "they
take their beaux for granted, and won't
make a mite of effort for 'em! Wa'n't
so when I was yoimg. But 'Mandy is
getting on; she'd ought to take pains!"
The faded place in the carpet near
the south window gave her a mo-
mentary pang — "but there!" she said to
herself; "if 'Mandy takes him, I guess
he can buy her a new carpet one of these
days." An hour before the visitor was
due to arrive, Mrs. Gedge put on her
best cap, shook out the folds of a clean
handkerchief, and drew Amanda's blue
plaid shawl about her shoulders. Sud-
denly a thought struck her. ' ' ' Mandy, I
believe those black mitts of mine are in
that old cigar box in the right-hand

I02

PARTNERS

corner, back, of my top drawer. Do
look, 'Mandy. There, child, hurry!
My, you ain't fast."

Amanda found the little black silk
mitts, and pulled them gently on to the
crippled hands ; then she placed her moth-
er's chair on the most faded spot in the
carpet, and sat down to await the caller.

William Sprague foimd the old crip-
pled postmistress sitting up very straight,
her mitted hands crossed in front of
her.

She gave him a keen look: " If he has
means," she said to herself, "he looks
like he'd make a girl a good husband;
— if' Mandy will only set up and be
pleasant!" She made a little gesture of
impatience, for it was plain that 'Mandy
had no intention of * ' setting up . " Mrs.
Gedge, herself, was very pleasant. She
was formal, but that was only at first:
Was Mr. Sprague staying long in Pur-
ham? Well, yes; Mr. Sprague thought
he'd probably settle in Purham.
103

PARTNERS

("He's not in business," Mrs. Gedge
thought, with elation, "so, if he's going
to settle here, he must have means!")
Aloud, she observed that Purham was a
"pretty place."

"Well, 'tis so," William agreed; and
asked how long Mrs. Gedge had lived
here.

"Always," Mrs. Gedge said; "and
pretty nigh always in the Post-office,
too. I have had the office more than
twenty years. I call my daughter
'Mandy my 'partner' sometimes."

William murmured something to the
effect that Miss Gedge was pretty
smart, housekeeping, and running a
post-office, too.

Amanda, standing with a stony face
behind her mother's chair, looked at
him as he said "post-office," her eyes
filling with terror; he nodded, reassur-
ingly. Mrs. Gedge did not notice their
glances; she had her own business to
attend to :

104

PARTNERS

"Praise to the face," she said, smiling
and nodding, " Praise to the face is open
disgrace; but I must say the child is
smart. She's a capable girl, sir, and a
good housekeeper. The man that gets
Amanda," she added, significantly, "will
be sure of a meal of victuals any hour
of the day." Mr. Sprague did not take
up the subject of housekeeping: he said
that he should think Mrs. Gedge would
be about tired of the office; "you've
been here so long," he ended, pleading.

Mrs. Gedge had her reasons for being
agreeable, but she could not allow any
talk like that; her voice was distinctly
less friendly: "In my position I can't
think of myself. We are glad, 'Mandy
and me, to be in the service, and would
never think of being tired." Then she
returned to the affair she had in hand;
"Besides, as I say, 'Mandy's capable.
She takes a good deal off me."

"But you've been here a good while,"
William persisted. He was not making

PARTNERS

the point he had hoped to; he looked
about the room in an embarrassed way
and wished he had not come.

"Yes; 'Mandy was only twenty-five
when we got the office," Mrs. Gedge
admitted, "and that was a good bit
ago, but she's kept her looks. There,
child, you needn't poke me. I guess
your mother can say that ! You've been
a real good girl, 'Mandy, too. Well,
now, sir, how do you like Purham?"

William found this much more com-
fortable ground, even though Mrs.
Gedge, in the most delicate way in the
world, said that she understood he was
a widower, and, of course, it was lonely
for him in a strange place like Purham.
"You ought to get married. A man of
your years needs a good housekeeper
to look after him," she said, emphati-
cally. When he rose to go, she said she
hoped he'd come often to see her and
'Mandy. "Of course, in our position
we haven't much time; but I'm sure
1 06

PARTNERS

I'll be glad to do anything I can for
you," she ended, with friendly patron-
age; — "and I guess you and 'Mandy
can find something to talk about — ain't
that so, 'Mandy?" Mrs. Gedge was
quite arch.

"Yes," said Amanda, faintly.

Her mother made a little impatient
cluck between her teeth; it was real
silly for Amanda to be so shy! She
hadn't said a word since the man had
been here; Mrs. Gedge didn't know
what girls were coming to nowadays —
never making a mite of effort to be
agreeable! Mrs. Gedge herself had cer-
tainly been agreeable; but her visitor
went away with a very sober face.

It was only a few days now until the
change must be made. Amanda had
altered so that Mrs. Gedge would have
been alarmed but for this interest of a
beau. Not that she named Mr. Sprague
thus to Amanda; she asked every con-
ceivable question about him, but she
107

PARTNERS

nursed her hope in silence, with small
chuckles when she was alone, and with
knowing looks and nods when the neigh-
bors came in to gossip. She was too
interested in this very personal happi-
r.;;ss to notice any constraint in the talk
of Sally Goodrich or Mrs. Dace or any
one else; but there was constraint, for
all the village was intent on shielding
her as long as possible from the dreadful
knowledge that threatened her.

There was nothing to hope for now;
Amanda had "bucked the Government,"
in vain. Her frantic appeal to the de-
partment had finally been answered by
a brief statement of her mother's in-
efficiency. Once, before the answer
came, she lay awake all night to plan a
journey to Washington: she could take
Mrs. Gedge's one htmdred dollars out of
the bank, and go. For a moment, the
impossibility of making any explanation
to her mother of so tremendous an under-
taking, balked her; then feverishly, she

io8

PARTNERS

put the explanation aside to think out
details: she would go to Washington,
and see the President — ^but the very
next day came that brief communication

from the Post-office Department.

William Sprague, stolidly, but with
the kindest pity in his twinkling eyes,
assured her that there was nothing more
to do; — "except get a move on," he
said, sighing. He was really very much
upset about it all. "Dam that cuss^
Hamilton, puttin' me in such a box,"
he said to himself more than once.
Amanda felt no resentment toward
him; she believed him implicitly when
he told her it was not his fault — he
could not help it ; he had been sent.

The first of June was on Monday; on
the preceding Thursday, Amanda, her
face set in haggard silence, went up to
the graveyard. She had decided to
break the news to her mother the next
morning; but first she would go and
sit by Willie for a while, not only for
109

PARTNERS

the comfort of it, but to be by herself
so that she could plan what she should
do when their salary ceased. William
Sprague had told her that her mother
must apply for a pension; but he had
admitted that it would take time to
secure it. And meantime — well; there
was the hundred dollars in the bank,
from which Mrs. Gedge received three
dollars and fifty cents a year. That was
all. They owned their house, but it was
of no value save as a shelter. No one
would buy or rent it. Everybody in
Purham had a house of his own — every-
body except Mr. Sprague, and he had at
once announced that he was going to live
in the tavern, that being cheaper, and
more comfortable than housekeeping, for
a single man. Amanda could sew, but
who would give her work? All the
women in Purham did their own sewing,
except when Mrs. Dace helped them
with the rare occurrence of a new dress.
She could go up to the tavern and assist
no

PARTNERS

Mrs. Thyme in the summer; but at two
dollars a week for twelve weeks — Mrs.
Thyme's summer boarders rarely stayed
longer than twelve weeks — she could
only earn twenty-four dollars.

Amanda thought this all out, sitting
there on the grass by Willie, her elbows
on her knees, her eyes staring blankly
at a mullein-stalk swaying in the wind.
"Oh, I wish mother might die before
she knew it," this old daughter said from
her aching heart. She saw no other way
to save the heartbreak, the pride that
must be trampled down, the violent
breaking of all the habits of life — ^the
misery of transplanted age! Amanda
had no more tears, but she drew in her
breath in a sort of moan. She thought
suddenly of those days of anxiety about
the album. How could she have been
worried over so little a thing! How
gladly would she exchange this new de-
spair for that old pain ....

'"Mandy!" some one shouted from
III

PARTNERS

the road. It was William Sprague; he
was pushing the sagging gate back
across the grass aiid coming into the
cemetery. "1 want to speak to you,
'Mandy," he said, in his loud, cheerful
voice. "Your mother said she believed
you was up here. If you don't mind,
I'll talk to you a bit." He had reached
her by this time, and stood watching her
with friendly concern. Jimmy came
and sniffed her hand, then licked it with
his little rough tongue. Amanda did
not notice him, and William shook his
head. ' ' Why, ' ' he thought, ' ' she don't
see Jimmy! She must be awful cut up
not to see Jimmy.

'"Mandy," he said, "I've thought of
somethihg. It isn't perhaps just the
thing you'd like, but it's the only way
out of the darned mess. And I'm will-
in'. Well, I— I'd really like it, 'Mandy."

Amanda's lips parted; her eyes di-
lated. "A way out?"

"Get married!" said William.

112

<
O
p

z
□

■<

PARTNERS

Amanda stared at him.

"I mean you and me," William ex-
plained. "It's like this: your ma would
be pleased, and she'd never know any-
thing. I'd be pleased; I'd have a home,
and I'd be comfortable. You'd be
pleased, 'cause you wouldn't be worried
about money. And I don't mind being
married the least bit ; honest, I don't. I
like you, 'Mandy. It's only fair to say I
like you. I told your ma I liked you, and
I was comin' up here to tell you so."

"You told mother?" said Amanda, in
a whisper.

"You haven't thought that way about
me, I know," he apologized, "and of
course it's sudden and we'd have to be
spry; we'd have to get spliced before
Monday. But just look at it, 'Mandy:
it's the only way to get ahead of Mr.
Hamilton, confound him! I wish I'd
let him get that ball that was meant
for him. 'Course, we'd never let on to
your ma why we did it; she could con-
ns

PARTNERS

sider me a third ' partner,' " he said,

winking: "But besides makin' it right

for her, it would be agreeable to me.

As I say, I think you're a nice girl, I

like you. Now, if you can only just

make up your mind to me?"

Amanda Gedge put her hand down on

the grass as though she were groping for

some other hand to help her. "Oh,"

what shall I do?" she said.

William Sprague sat down beside her,
then remembered the imprudence of
sitting on the grass in May, and rose.
"I thought it all out," he assured her,
"and it come to me last night all of a
sudden. 'Well, there!' says I to my-
self, 'weren't 'Mandy and me a couple
of fools not to think of that way of
settlin' this hash!' What do you say?"

She had nothing to say. She put her
hands over her face. "Oh, Willie!" she
said, under her breath.

"Well, now, there! That's right!"
said William, heartily. " My first wife
114

PARTNERS

called me Willie, and I like to hear it
again. Yes; we'll get along first rate,
'Mandy; me and you and Jimmy and
the old lady. Come, now, it's all set-
tled, ain't it?"

She drew a half -sobbing breath before
she could speak. "Oh, I must save
mother! and you are so kind, so very,
very kind to think of this way —
WiUiam."

THE END

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