“Pies! Well, I’m jiggered if it ain’t pies!” He added greedily: “Yuh aimin’ to give us a piece of that?”
“After yuh eat, yes,” Mrs. Hart replied with a smile.
“I hate to waste space,” Allen said regretfully. The two other men chuckled, and the woman shook her head.
“Yuh’re just like my boy—he was always crazy for sweets.” Her words brought bitter memories to her, and her eyes clouded.
Allen pecked at his food, and his unabashed greediness, as he cast longing glances at the pies, made the woman momentarily forget her grief at being separated from her son. At last, she could no longer stand his wistful, greedy eyes, and arose and cut him a big piece of pie. He gobbled it down before she could regain her seat. With a laugh, she cut him a second piece. As she handed it to him, there came a knock on the door. The others started, but Allen continued to eat his pie.
Mrs. Hart opened the door, and the postmaster entered at a run, bubbling with excitement.
“It sure worked. ‘Lefty’ Simms takes that letter an’ sticks it into another envelope an’ addresses it. I fishes it out. Shucks, I suppose I robbed the mails, but here she is,” he cried, as he held out the letter triumphantly.
Bill McAllister grabbed the letter, glanced at it, and then handed it to Allen, who read the address and grinned gleefully.
“Shucks! He’s way down at Brushtown, along the border,” McAllister said in disappointment.
“But Brushtown ain’t far from Cannondale, an’ I got——”