She received the official notification by the afternoon mail, and in the evening she was favored by a call from her successor.

Ebenezer Graham was a small man, with insignificant, mean-looking features, including a pair of weazel-like eyes and a turn-up nose.  It did not require a skillful physiognomist to read his character in his face.  Meanness was stamped upon it in unmistakable characters.

“Good-evening, Mr. Graham,” said the widow, gravely.

“Good-evening, ma’am,” said the storekeeper.  “I’ve called to see you, Mrs. Carr, about the post office, I presume you have heard—­”

“I have heard that you are to be my successor.”

“Just so.  As long as your husband was alive, I didn’t want to step into his shoes.”

“But you are willing to step into mine,” said Mrs. Carr, smiling faintly.

“Just so—­that is, the gov’ment appear to think a man ought to be in charge of so responsible a position.”

“I shall be glad if you manage the office better than I have done.”

“You see, ma’am, it stands to reason that a man is better fitted for business than a woman,” said Ebenezer Graham, in a smooth tone for he wanted to get over this rather awkward business as easily as possible.  “Women, you know, was made to adorn the domestic circles, et cetery.”

“Adorning the domestic circle won’t give me a living,” said Mrs. Carr, with some bitterness, for she knew that but for the grasping spirit of the man before her she would have been allowed to retain her office.

“I was comin’ to that,” said the new postmaster.  “Of course, I appreciate your position as a widder, without much means, and I’m going to make you an offer; that is, your boy, Herbert.”

Herbert looked up from a book he was reading, and listened with interest to hear the benevolent intentions of the new postmaster.”

“I am ready to give him a place in my store,” proceeded Ebenezer.  “I always keep a boy, and thinks I to myself, the wages I give will help along the widder Carr.  You see, I like to combine business with consideration for my feller creeters.”

Mrs. Carr smiled faintly, for in spite of her serious strait she could not help being amused at the notion of Ebenezer Graham’s philanthropy.

“What’s going to become of Tom Tripp?” asked Herbert, abruptly.

“Thomas Tripp isn’t exactly the kind of boy I want in my store,” said Mr. Graham.  “He’s a harum-scarum sort of boy, and likes to shirk his work.  Then I suspect he stops to play on the way when I send him on errands.  Yesterday he was five minutes longer than he need to have been in goin’ to Sam Dunning’s to carry some groceries.  Thomas doesn’t seem to appreciate his privileges in bein’ connected with a business like mine.”

Tom Tripp was hardly to blame for not recognizing his good luck in occupying a position where he received a dollar and a half a week for fourteen hours daily work, with half a dozen scoldings thrown in.