from the grocer's barrel.

"Gals?" questioned the storekeeper.

"Yes. There's a lot of mail here for the parties, mostly postals.
Can't make much out of the postals, but some of the letters I can read
through the envelopes by holding them against the window."

"Lemme have a look," urged the grocer eagerly.

"Not by a hatful. I'm an officer of the government. The secrets of
the government must be guarded, I tell ye. There's six of them----"

"You don't say! Six letters?" interrupted the grocer.

"No, gals. One's name is Elting. She's what they call a chaperon.
Another is Jane McCarthy--I reckon some relation of the party who wrote
me a letter asking what I knew about Jan. I reckon Jan got the job on
my recommendation."

"Who are these girls, and what do they think they're goin' to do up
here?"

"Call themselves 'The Meadow-Brook Gals.' Funny name, eh?" grinned the
postmaster, balancing a soda cracker on the tip of his forefinger, then
deftly tossing it edgewise into his open mouth. "They pay Janus ten
dollars a week for toting them around," he chuckled. "Read it in the
McCarthy party's letter to Jan."

"What are they going to do up in the hills?"