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 getting a little too
set up for the Crossing." The individual here mentioned being the county
butcher, and supposed to exhibit his hopeless affection for Flip by
making a long and useless divergence from his weekly route to enter the
canyon for "orders," Flip did not deem it necessary to reply. "Then I
allowed how ez you might have company," he continued; "I reckon there's
some city folks up at the summit. I saw a mighty smart, fash'n'ble gal
cavorting round. Had no end o' style and fancy fixin's. That's my kind,
I tell you. I just weaken on that sort o' gal," he continued, in the
firm belief that he had awakened Flip's jealousy, as he glanced at her
well-worn homespun frock, and found her eyes suddenly fixed on his own.

"Strange I ain't got to see her yet," she replied coolly, shouldering
her parcel, and quite ignoring any sense of obligation to him for his
extra-official act.

"But you might get to see her at the edge of the Gin and Ginger Woods,"
he persisted feebly, in a last effort to detain her; "if you'll take a
pasear there with me." Flip's only response was to walk on toward the
cabin, whence, with a vague complimentary suggestion of "droppin' in to
pass the time o' day" with her father, the Postmaster meekly followed.

The paternal Fairley, once convinced that his daughter's new companion
required no pecuniary or material assistance from his hands, relaxed
to the extent of entering into a querulous confidence with him, during
which Flip took the opportunity of slipping away. As Fairley had that