ever satisfied. The disappointment to the Postmaster--a man past the
middle age--partook of a sentimental nature. He looked at the letters
and parcels; he looked at his watch; it was yet early, he could
return by noon. He again examined the addresses; they were in the same
handwriting as the previous letters. His mind was made up, he would
deliver them himself. The poetic, soulful side of his mission was
delicately indicated by a pale blue necktie, a clean shirt, and a small
package of gingernuts, of which Flip was extravagantly fond.

The common road to Fairley's Ranch was by the stage turnpike to a point
below the Gin and Ginger Woods, where the prudent horseman usually left
his beast and followed the intersecting trail afoot. It was here that
the Postmaster suddenly observed on the edge of the wood the figure of
an elegantly-dressed woman; she was walking slowly, and apparently at
her ease; one hand held her skirts lightly gathered between her gloved
fingers, the other slowly swung a riding whip. Was it a picnic of some
people from Monterey or Santa Cruz? The spectacle was novel enough to
justify his coming nearer. Suddenly she withdrew into the wood; he lost
sight of her; she was gone. He remembered, however, that Flip was
still to be seen, and as the steep trail was beginning to tax all his
energies, he was fain to hurry forward. The sun was nearly vertical when
he turned into the canyon, and saw the bark roof of the cabin beyond. At
almost the same moment Flip appeared, flushed and panting, in the road
before him.

"You've got something for me," she said, pointing to the parcel and
letters. Completely taken by surprise, the Postmaster mechanically
yielded them up, and as instantly regretted it. "They're paid for,"
continued Flip, observing his hesitation.

"That's so," stammered the official of the Crossing, seeing his last
chance of knowing the contents of the parcel vanish; "but I thought ez
it's a valooable package, maybe ye might want to examine it to see that
it was all right afore ye receipted for it."

"I'll risk it," said Flip, coolly, "and if it ain't right I'll let ye
know."

As the girl seemed inclined to retire with her property, the Postmaster
was driven to other conversation. "We ain't had the pleasure of seeing
you down at the Crossing for a month o' Sundays," he began, with airy
yet pronounced gallantry. "Some folks let on you was keepin' company
with some feller like Bijah Brown, and you were