"Oh, father, why are you not here?" I cried inwardly. "Oh, father, what a shame to go off to the post-office and leave your son to face these tried to feel as I felt five minutes before, like facing a female regiment. _Now_ was the time to prove my courage--to turn over a new leaf, take a new departure, begin life over again, show to these giggling girls that I had some pride--some self-independence--some self-resp----" The door creaked on its hinges, and at the sound a blind confusion seized me. In vain I attempted, like a brave but despairing general, to rally my forces; but they all deserted me at once; I was hidden behind the calicoes, and with no time to arrange for a nobler plan of escaping a meeting with the enemy--no auger-hole though which to crawl. I followed the first impulse, stooped, and _hid under the counter_. In a minute I wished myself out of that; but the minute had been too much--the bevy had entered and approached the counter, at the very place behind which I lay concealed. I was so afraid to breathe; the cold sweat started on my forehead. "Why! there's no one in the store!" exclaimed Belle's voice. "Oh, yes; there must be. Let us look around and see," responded Maggie, and they went tiptoeing around the room, peeping here and there, while I silently tore my hair. I was so afraid they would come behind the counter and discover me. In three minutes, which seemed as many hours, they came to the starting-point again. "There isn't a soul here." "La, how funny! We might take something." "Yes, if we were thieves, what a fine opportunity we would have." "I'll bet three cents it's John's fault; his father would never leave the store in this careless way." "What a queer fellow he is, anyway!" "Ha, ha, ha! so perfectly absurd! _Isn't_ it fun when he's about?" "I never was so tickled in my life as when he bought that quilt." "I thought I would die laughing when he took me into the coal-cellar, but I kept a straight face." "Do _you_ think he's good-looking, Hetty?" "Who? John Flutter! _good-looking_? He's a perfect fright." "That's just what I think. Oh, isn't it too good to see the way he nurses that little mustache of his? I'm going to send him a magnifying-glass, so that he can count the hairs with less trouble." "If you will, I'll send a box of cold cream; we can send them through the post-office, and he'll never find out who they came from." "Jolly! we'll do it! Belle won't send anything, for he's dead in love with _her_." "Much good it'll do him, girls! Do you suppose I wouldn't marry that simpleton if he was made of gold." "Did you ever see such a red face as he has? I would be afraid to come near it with a light dress on." "And his ears!" "Monstrous! and always burning."