stood by her cabin and the camp--the only woman in a settlement of forty
men--during the darkest hours of their fortune. Helping them to wash and
cook, and ministering to their domestic needs, the sanctity of her cabin
was, however, always kept as inviolable as if it had been HIS tomb. No
one exactly knew why, for it was only a tacit instinct; but even one or
two who had not scrupled to pay court to Betsy Baker during John Baker's
life, shrank from even a suggestion of familiarity towards the woman who
had said that she would "wait for him there."

When brighter days came and the settlement had increased by one or two
families, and laggard capital had been hurried up to relieve the still
beleaguered and locked-up wealth of Burnt Ridge, the needs of the
community and the claims of the widow of John Baker were so well told
in political quarters that the post-office of Laurel Run was created
expressly for her. Every man participated in the building of the pretty
yet substantial edifice--the only public building of Laurel Run--that
stood in the dust of the great highway, half a mile from the settlement.
There she was installed for certain hours of the day, for she could not
be prevailed upon to abandon John's cabin, and here, with all the added
respect due to a public functionary, she was secure in her privacy.

But the blind devotion of Laurel Run to John Baker's relict did not stop
here. In its zeal to assure the Government authorities of the necessity
for a post-office, and to secure a permanent competency to the
postmistress, there was much embarrassing extravagance. During the first
week the sale of stamps at Laurel Run post-office was unprecedented
in the annals of the Department. Fancy prices were given for the first
issue; then they were bought wildly, recklessly, unprofitably, and
on all occasions. Complimentary congratulation at the little window
invariably ended with "and a dollar's worth of stamps, Mrs. Baker." It