Leonidas brushed by him and deposited his letters in the box in
discreet triumph. The postmaster was evidently officially resenting some
imputation on his carelessness, and, concluding his defense, "No, sir,"
he said, "you kin bet your boots that ef any letter hez gone astray for
you or your wife--Ye said your wife, didn't ye?"

"Yes," said Burroughs hastily, with a glance around the shop.

"Well, for you or anybody at your house--it ain't here that's the fault.
You hear me! I know every letter that comes in and goes outer this
office, I reckon, and handle 'em all,"--Leonidas pricked up his
ears,--"and if anybody oughter know, it's me. Ye kin paste that in your
hat, Mr. Burroughs." Burroughs, apparently disconcerted by the intrusion
of a third party--Leonidas--upon what was evidently a private inquiry,
murmured something surlily, and passed out.

Leonidas was puzzled. That big man seemed to be "snoopin'" around for
something! He knew that he dared not touch the letter-bag,--Leonidas had
heard somewhere that it was a deadly crime to touch any letters after
the Government had got hold of them once, and he had no fears for the
safety of hers. But ought he not go back at once and tell her about
her husband's visit, and the alarming fact that the postmaster was
personally acquainted with all the letters? He instantly saw, too, the
wisdom of her inclosing her letter hereafter in another address. Yet he
finally resolved not to tell her to-day,--it would look like "hanging
round" again; and--another secret reason--he was afraid that any
allusion to her husband's interference would bring back that change
in her beautiful face which he did not like. The better to resist
temptation, he went back another way.