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The Postmistress Of Laurel Run
by
She walked up and down rapidly, tying her chip hat under her chin again. Then she stopped, and taking her chamois purse from her pocket, laid it sharply on the desk.
“Stanton Green, don’t be a fool! Rise up out of this, and be a man again. Take enough out o’ that bag to pay what you owe Gov’ment, send in your resignation, and keep the rest to start you in an honest life elsewhere. But light out o’ Hickory Hill afore this time to-morrow.”
She pulled her mantle from the wall and opened the door.
“You are going?” he said bitterly.
“Yes.” Either she could not hold seriousness long in her capricious little fancy, or, with feminine tact, she sought to make the parting less difficult for him, for she broke into a dazzling smile. “Yes, I’m goin’ to run Blue Lightning agin Charley and that way bag back to Laurel Run, and break the record.”
*****
It is said that she did! Perhaps owing to the fact that the grade of the return journey to Laurel Run was in her favor, and that she could avoid the long, circuitous ascent to the summit taken by the stage, or that, owing to the extraordinary difficulties in the carriage of the way bag,–which had to be twice rescued from under the wheels of the stage,–she entered the Laurel Run post-office as the coach leaders came trotting up the hill. Mr. Home was already on the platform.
“You’ll have to ballast your next way bag, boss,” said Charley, gravely, as it escaped his clutches once more in the dust of the road, “or you’ll have to make a new contract with the company. We’ve lost ten minutes in five miles over that bucking thing.”
Home did not reply, but quickly dragged his prize into the office, scarcely noticing Mrs. Baker, who stood beside him pale and breathless. As the bolt of the bag was drawn, revealing its chaotic interior, Mrs. Baker gave a little sigh. Home glanced quickly at her, emptied the bag upon the floor, and picked up the broken and half-filled money parcel. Then he collected the scattered coins and counted them. “It’s all right, Mrs. Baker,” he said gravely. “HE’S safe this time.”
“I’m so glad!” said little Mrs. Baker, with a hypocritical gasp.
“So am I,” returned Home, with increasing gravity, as he took the coin, “for, from all I have gathered this afternoon, it seems he was an old pioneer of Laurel Run, a friend of your husband’s, and, I think, more fool than knave!” He was silent for a moment, clicking the coins against each other; then he said carelessly: “Did he get quite away, Mrs. Baker?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Mrs. Baker, with a lofty air of dignity, but a somewhat debasing color. “I don’t see why I should know anything about it, or why he should go away at all.”
“Well,” said Mr. Home, laying his hand gently on the widow’s shoulder, “well, you see, it might have occurred to his friends that the COINS WERE MARKED! That is, no doubt, the reason why he would take their good advice and go. But, as I said before, Mrs. Baker, YOU’RE all right, whatever happens,–the Government stands by YOU!”