While Sam was speaking, he was looking about the room, and, seeing that the water-bucket was empty, he went out and filled it at the pump.
Mrs. Preston again protested, but Sam silenced her by declaring that he happened to be thirsty, and didn't know any easier way to get a drink.
It was a singular fact that somehow Sam always "happened" to pass through the woodshed about the time the box was empty and the kindling-wood getting low, and that he always "happened" to be thirsty when he came out of school and the water-bucket had to be filled.
Mrs. Preston had not lived alone since Oscar's departure. She had two young lady boarders for company; and as Sam had a way of dropping in and saying something cheerful just at the time when she was growing downhearted and longed to see Oscar, she managed to keep up pretty good spirits. Sam always brought sunshine with him, and the lonely mother felt the better for his visits.
Having satisfied himself that there was nothing else he could do, Sam departed, with the remark that he might happen around to the post office that evening, and if he did, he would bring up Mrs. Preston's mail, should there chance to be any.
He went there as straight as he could go, and, to his great delight, three letters, addressed to Mrs. Preston in Oscar's well-known hand, were pushed out to him.
With the muttered threat that if he did not find at least one letter for himself from the same source somebody would hear from him, he walked to the other end of the office and looked into his father's box.
It happened that there were two for him, and so Oscar escaped a blowing up. One of the letters was bulky—it took three stamps to bring it through—and the other was much smaller.
"I'll read the mean little one first," thought Sam, as he tore open the envelope after putting the other letters into his pocket, "and save the best for the last."