Waiting until some of the men had moved aside from the delivery window, Bert made his way to it. Mr. Anderson knew the Bobbsey boy, for in the summer Bert had often gone to his father’s lumber office, and, more than once, had been allowed to go down to the post-office for the mail.
“No letters for the lumber company to-day, Bert,” the postmaster said, with a smile. “There were a couple yesterday, but Mr. Jones got them.”
“I didn’t come for the office mail, Mr. Anderson,” explained the boy. “But the postman hasn’t been at our house for two or three days, and I thought maybe there’d be some mail here for my sister or me.”
“I’ll look, but I don’t believe there is any, Bert,” said Mr. Anderson. “None of the men went out yesterday, on account of the heavy storm.”
He went back to the long table where the mail was sorted, but when he again approached the window there were no letters in his hands.
“Sorry, Bert, nothing for you folks,” said Mr. Anderson. “You see everything is upset. The trains are late, and some are stuck in deep snow up further north, I hear. And the worst of it is that a lot of wires have been blown down so we can’t get any word. Tell your mother the man will go out with mail as soon as any comes in.”
“I can’t tell my mother that,” stated Bert.
“Why not? Is she sick?”
“No, but Mrs. Pry is. She came to keep house for us while mother and dad went away. Then she got sick, and Dinah and Sam went away, and——”
“You don’t mean to tell me you Bobbsey twins are keeping house all by yourselves!” interrupted the postmaster in astonishment.