energies to a chosen end, and infallibly wins
his way from the cart-tracks and the muck-wagons to office stools and
black coats. Not yet dressed for the day, in his loose serge jacket
and unbraced trousers, he looked what was termed locally "a rum
customer if you had to tackle un." His dark hair bristled stiffly, his
short mustache wanted a lot of combing, a russet stubble covered chin
and neck; but the broad forehead and blue eyes gave a suggestion of
power and intelligence to an aspect that might otherwise have seemed
simply forbidding.

"Good marnin', sir."

One of the helpers at the Roebuck stables had come slouching past.

"Good mornin', Samuel."

It was still music to the ears of the postmaster when people addressed
him as "Sir." Especially if, like that fellow, they had known him as a
boy. But he thought now that perhaps many who spoke to him thus
deferentially in truth desired his downfall.

Quite possible. One never knows. He himself wished them well, in his
heart was fond of them all, and craved their regard; although he was
too proud to be always seeking it, or even going half-way to meet it.

And he thought, tolerantly, that you can not have everything in this
world. Your successful man is rarely a popular man. He had had the
success in full measure--if it pleased them, let the envious ones go
on envying him his elevated station, his domestic comfort, and his
pretty wife.

As he thought of his wife all his reflections grew tender. She was
probably still fast asleep; and when, presently, he went up-stairs to
the private part of the house, he was careful not to disturb her.

His official clothes lay waiting for him on a chair in the kitchen.
They had been brushed and folded by Mary, the servant, who sprang to
attention at the appearance of her master, brought him shaving-water,
arranged the square of looking-glass conveniently, assisted with the
white collar and black tie, and generally proved herself an efficient
valet.

She ventured to ask a question when Mr. Dale was about to leave the
kitchen.

"Any news, sir?"

"News!" Mr. Dale echoed the word sternly. "What news should there
be--anyway, what news that concerns _you_?

"I beg pardon, sir." Buxom, red-cheeked Mary lowered her eyes, and by
voice and attitude expressed the confusion proper to a subordinate who
has taken a liberty in addressing a superior. "I'm sorry, sir. But I
on'y ast."

"All right," said Dale, less sternly. "You just at