Mrs. Tree

"I never see no sense in that," remarked Seth Weaver. "Why should a change of weather make the water rily beforehand? Besides, it ain't."

"My Uncle Ammi lived to a hundred and two," said John Peavey, slowly, "and he never doubted it. You're allers contrary, Seth. If I said I had a nose on my face, you'd say it warn't so."

"Wal, some might call it one," rejoined Seth, with a cautious glance. "I ain't fond of committin' myself."

"Meetin' come to order!" said Salem Rock, interrupting this preliminary badinage.

"Brether – I – I would say, gentlemen, we have met to recommend a postmaster for this village, in the room of Israel Nudd, diseased. What is your pleasure in this matter? I s'pose Homer'd ought to have it, hadn't he?"

The conclave meditated. No one had the smallest doubt that Homer ought to have it, but it was not well to decide matters too hastily.

"Homer's none too speedy," said Abram Cutter. "He gets to moonin' over the mail sometimes, and it seems as if you'd git Kingdom Come before you got the paper. But I never see no harm in Home."

"Not a mite," was the general verdict.

"Homer's as good as gingerbread," said Salem Rock, heartily. "He knows the business, ben in it sence he was a boy, and there's no one else doos. My 'pinion, he'd oughter have the job."

He spoke emphatically, and all the others glanced at him with approval; but there was no hurry. The mail would not be in for half an hour yet.

"There's the Fidely," said Seth Weaver. "Goin' up river for logs, I expect."

A dingy tug came puffing by. As she passed, a sooty figure waved a salutation, and the whistle screeched thrice. Seth Weaver swung his hat in acknowledgment.

"Joe Derrick," he said. "Him and me run her a spell together last year."

"How did she run?" inquired John Peavey.

"Like a wu'm with the rheumatiz," was the reply. "The logs in the river used to roll over and groan, to see lumber put together in such shape. She ain't safe, neither. I told Joe so when I got out. I says, 'It's time she was to her long home,' I says, 'but I don't feel no call to be one of the bearers,' I says. Joe's reckless. I expect he'll keep right on till she founders under him, and then walk ashore on his feet. They are bigger than some rafts I've seen, I tell him."

"Speaking of bearers," said Abram Cutter, "hadn't we ought to pass a vote of thanks to Isr'el, or something?"

"What for? turnin' up his toes?" inquired the irrepressible Seth. "I dono as he did it to obleege us, did he?"

"I didn't mean that," said Abram, patiently. "But he was postmaster here twenty-five years, and seems's though we'd ought to take some notice of it."

"That's so!" said Salem Rock. "You're right, Abram. What we want is some resolutions of sympathy for the widder. That's what's usual in such cases."

"Humph!" said Seth Weaver.

The others looked thoughtful.

"How would you propose to word them resolutions, Brother Rock?" asked Enoch Peterson, cautiously. "I understand Mis' Nudd accepts her lot. Isr'el warn't an easy man to live with, I'm told by them as was neighbor to him."

He glanced at Seth Weaver, who cleared his throat and gazed seaward. The others waited. Presently —

"If I was drawin' up them resolutions," Weaver said, slowly, "'pears to me I should say something like this:

"'Resolved, that Isr'el Nudd was a good postmaster, and done his work faithful; and resolved, that we tender his widder all the respeckful sympathy she requires.' And a peanut-shell to put it in!" he added, in a lower tone.

Salem Rock pulled out a massive silver watch and looked at it.

"I got to go!" he said. "Let's boil this down! All present who want Homer Hollopeter for postmaster, say so; contrary-minded? It's a vote! We'll send the petition to Washin'ton. Next question is, who'll he have for an assistant?"

There was a movement of chairs, as with fresh interest in the new topic.

"I was intendin' to speak on that p'int!" piped up a little man at the end of the row, who had not spoken before.

"What do we need of an assistant? Homer Hollopeter could do the work with one hand, except Christmas and New Years. There ain't room enough in there to set a hen, anyway."

"Who wants to set hens in the post-office?" demanded Seth Weaver. "There's cacklin' enough goes on there without that. I expect about the size of it is, you'd like more room to set by the stove, without no eggs to set on."

"I was only thinkin' of savin' the gov'ment!" said the little man, uneasily.

"I reckon gov'ment's big enough to take care of itself!" said Seth Weaver.

"There's allers been an assistant," said Salem Rock, briefly. "Question is, who to have?"

At this moment a window-blind was drawn up, and the meek head of Mr. Homer Hollopeter appeared at the open window.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" he said, nervously. A great content shone in his mild brown eyes, – indeed, he must have heard every word that had been spoken, – but he shuffled his feet and twitched the blind uneasily after he had spoken.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Postmaster!" said Salem Rock, heartily.

"Congratulations, Home!" said Seth Weaver. The others nodded and grunted approvingly.

"There's nothing official yet, you understand," Salem Rock added, kindly; "but we've passed a vote, and the rest is only a question of time."

"Only a question of time!" echoed Abram Cutter and John Peavey.

Mr. Homer drew himself up and settled his sky-blue necktie.

"Gentlemen," he said, his voice faltering a little at first, but gaining strength as he went on, "I thank you for the honor you do me. I am deeply sensible of it, and of the responsibility of the position I am called upon to fill; to – occupy; – to – a – become a holder of."

"Have a lozenger, Home!" said Seth Weaver, encouragingly.

"I – am obliged to you, Seth; not any!" said Mr. Homer, slightly flustered. "I was about to say that my abilities, such as they are, shall be henceforth devoted to the service – to the – amelioration; to the – mental, moral, and physical well-being – of my country and my fellow citizens. Ahem! I suppose – I believe it is the custom – a – in short, am I at liberty to choose an assistant?"

"We were just talkin' about that," said Salem Rock.

"Yes, you choose your own assistant, of course; but – well, it's usual to choose someone that's agreeable to folks. I believe the village has generally had some say in the matter; not officially, you understand, just kind of complimentary. We nominate you, and you kind o' consult us about who you'll have in to help. That seems about square, don't it? Doctor Stedman recommended you to Isr'el, I remember."

There was an assenting hum.

Mr. Homer leaned out of the window, all his self-consciousness gone.

"Mr. Rock," he said, eagerly, "I wish most earnestly – I am greatly desirous of having William Jaquith as my assistant. I – he appears to me a most suitable person. I beg, gentlemen – I hope, boys, that you will agree with me. The only son of his mother, and she is a widow."

He paused, and looked anxiously at the elders.