It was easy to see that the elderly rural postman was proud of his ability to use that word of many syllables.
At that moment, Mrs. Dorsey, the general housekeeper of the school appeared. “Just fetch that pouch right in here, Mr. Peters. I’ll appoint Virginia Davis as mail custodian until Miss King gets back, so hereafter, if I’m not handy to find, just give it to her.”
The elderly man climbed the steps of the porch and there deposited the pouch. Virginia looked up at the open door to ask Mrs. Dorsey if she wished to sort the contents, but that middle-aged woman had bustled away, for, during vacation, the cook and maid had been permitted to leave, and so Mrs. Dorsey was busy preparing the lunch.
“Well, Virg, I guess it’s up to you to do the honors.” Betsy, kneeling down, opened the pouch and peered within, as she chanted:
“Leather bag, what do you hold?
Messages more dear than gold?”
Whirling, she pointed at Babs, who, knowing what was expected, quickly said:
“Leather bag, please yield for me
A letter from my brother P.”
Turning quickly, she pointed at Margaret.
That maiden actually blushed. She had been wishing that the bag would contain a letter, all for her very own self from her guardian, Malcolm Davis whom she greatly admired, but she would not put this in a rhyme, and so she said:
“Leather bag, surely you’ve guessed,
I want a letter from the West.”