"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