He never goes a-nigh the post-office,
because he says he hates a crowd; so even if you'd written some one that
you were coming, he wouldn't know it."
"Ah, yes, I see; we will take him entirely by surprise, then; well,
'lead on Macduff!'"
"My name's Morton Olmstead, if you please, sir."
"And a good name too, laddie; I like it, and what's more I like you!
You're going to make a fine man some day, did you know it?"
Morton's eyes kindled.
"I mean to, sir. Sara says I can if I will; she says the good God
started me with a sound brain and a healthy body, and I ought to be able
to do the rest."
"She does, eh?" opening his eyes surprisedly. "And who may this wise and
epigrammatic Sara be, I'd like to know?"
Morton concluded to let the suspicious word go unchallenged. "Yes, sir,
she is wise and good. She's been to school lots, and she's my oldest
sister."
"Ah, indeed? That accounts for your unusually good English, I suppose. I
had wondered at it here."
Morton felt this to be a compliment, so turned red and squirmed, not
knowing just how to acknowledge it, and his friend, perhaps to relieve
him, asked kindly, "How old is Sara?" having already decided she was
nearing the thirties, at least.
"She's seventeen, sir.
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