The plump lady in gray, with a long gray curl behind each ear, picked among the letters and papers at the foot of the untidy bed, and found a letter in a pretty hand addressed to Miss Affy S. Sparrow, and a newspaper bearing the printed label, Cephas Brush.
“That is all,” remarked the Bensalem postmaster; “never mind fixing them straight; I get uneasy and tumble them around.”
“I will sit here and read the letter, if I may.”
“Oh, yes, do. I haven’t heard any news to-day.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t brought you any,” said Miss Affy, “and you will not care for my letter.”
“Oh, yes, I shall,” he answered, eagerly. “I was wishing I could read all the letters to amuse me. I did read Mr. Brush’s paper. I tucked it all back smooth; I knew he wouldn’t care.”
“He will call and bring you papers,” promised Miss Affy, tearing open the envelope with a hair-pin.
“I wish he _would_. And a book, too. I wanted Sarah to take my book back to the library to-day, and get another to read to-night if I can’t sleep, but she said she hadn’t time; and, she can’t now, because there’s supper and the mail coming in,” he groaned. “I had an awful night last night; and if it hadn’t been for ‘Tempest and Sunshine,’ I don’t know how I should have got through it.”
“That was enough for one night,” laughed the lady at the window reading the letter. “I will try to find you something better than that for to-night.”
“Will you go to the library for me? That’s just like you, Miss Affy.”
“Yes, I will go. If I cannot find anything I like I will call somewhere else. There should be books enough in Bensalem to help you through the night.”
“Is your letter satisfactory?” he questioned, curiously, as she slipped it back into the envelope.
“Mrs. Mackenzie is very feeble; she wishes to come to Bensalem for the change, and asks me to go and bring her and Judith.”
“But you and Miss Rody will not want the trouble of sick folks.”
“We want _her_,” said Miss Affy, rising; “I will leave your book in the post-office, Mr. Gunn, so you need not blow the horn when you hear me open the door.”
“But it may not be _you_; how shall I know?”
“You can _look_ in if it’s you, and Sarah isn’t there.”
“‘Tempest and Sunshine.’ Oh, Sarah hasn’t finished it yet. I forgot that,” he said disappointedly. “She read it yesterday and gave me nothing but bread and milk for supper, and I wanted pork and eggs. She was on it long enough to finish,” he grumbled.