“There’s one safe place in the world; that’s The Village,� said old Mr. Tavis, who was sitting on the post office porch with Pete Walthall and Jake Andrews and Mr. Smith.
Mr. Smith shook his head and smiled. “See who comes there,� he said.
“It’s Black Mayo,� Mr. Tavis said in a constrained tone.
Somehow, no one understood how or why, there had grown up a feeling of constraint about Black Mayo whenever Mr. Smith was present.
“He’s got a basket,� commented Jake Andrews, “and I bet there are pigeons in it. Yes, Mr. Smith, it does look foolish for a grown-up man to be raising birds and carrying them about and playing with them.�
Dick Osborne, who came out of the post office just then, spoke up indignantly. “Why, Mr. Andrews! Cousin Mayo’s training those pigeons for war; they use them to carry messages.�
“Shucks!� Jake laughed deridingly.
“Well, they can fetch and carry, you know,� old Mr. Tavis said mildly. “It’s in the Bible; Noah sent a dove out of the Ark and it came to him in the evening with an olive leaf pluckt off.�
“That’s all right—in the Bible,� said Jake. “But we’re talking ’bout our days. My daddy was in The War; I never heard him tell of using pigeons. You were in The War yourself, Mr. Tavis. I ask you, is you ever sent your news by a pigeon?�
Mr. Tavis had to confess that he never did.