As I
approached the store I saw a sign in big letters across the front,
"Jacob Wragge, General Store," and immediately over the door, in smaller
letters, "Postoffice." More puzzled than ever I flung my reins over the
hitching-post and went in. A number of men stood leaning against the
counter and piled-up boxes, none of whom I knew.

"Is Ould Michael in?" I asked, forgetting for the moment his proper
name.

"In where?" asked the man behind the counter.

"The postoffice," I replied. "Doesn't he keep the postoffice?"

"Not much," he answered, with an insolent laugh; "it's not much he could
keep, unless it's whisky."

"Perhaps you can tell me where he is?" I asked, keeping my temper down,
for I longed to reach for his throat.

"You'll find him boozing in one of the saloons, like enough, the old
sot."

I walked out without further word, for the longing for his throat grew
almost more than I could bear, and went across to Paddy Dougan's. Paddy
expressed great delight at seeing me again and, on my asking for Ould
Michael, became the picture of woe.

Four months ago the postoffice had been taken from Ould Michael and set
up in Jacob Wragge's store, and with the old soldier things had gone
badly ever since.

"The truth is, an' I'll not desave you," said Paddy, adopting a
confidential undertone, "he's drinkin' too much and he is."

"And where is he? And where's his flag?"

"His flag is it?" Paddy shook his head as if to say, "Now you _have_
touched the sore spot. Shure, an' didn't he haul down the flag the day
they took the affice frum him."

"And has he never put it up again?"

"Niver a bit av it, Man dear," and Paddy walked out with me in great
excitement.

"Do you know he niver heard a word till the stage druv be his dure with
the mail-bag an' the tap av it an' left the ould man standin' there
alone. Man, do you know, you wud ha' cried, so you wud, at the look av
him; and then he walked over to the flag and hauled it down an' flung it
inside the affice, an' there it's yit; an' niver a joke out av him
since."

"And what is McFarquhar doing all the time?"

"Shure he's off on his spring hunt this three months; an' he thried to
get Ould Michael to go along wid him, but niver a bit wud he; but I
heard he'll be in to-day and, bedad, there he is!"

Sure enough there was McFarquhar, riding toward us. He gave me a warm
welcome back and then fell into talking of Ould Michael. He had only
seen him once after the