Mary was still at her desk when I walked into the mail room. I put my hand on her shoulder.
"Mary," says I, "I know all about it."
She looked at me. Her eyes were wet, and I cal'late mine wa'n't as dry as a sand bank in July.
"You know?" she says.
"Yes," says I. And I told her the yarn. Afore I got through the color had come back to her cheeks.
"Then you did leave it on the sortin' table after all," she says, almost in a whisper.
"Course I did! Didn't I say so?"
"Yes; but Cap'n Zeb, I saw you put that letter in your overcoat pocket. I saw you do it, myself."
So there 'twas. I'd forgot to tell her about my mistake in the overcoats and she thought I'd lost the letter and didn't know it.