"Good-by, Mr. Embody," said Jerry.
He did not put out his hand. Enoch hesitated a little.
"Farewell," he said, and his voice was not quite natural.
The next morning, when Enoch opened the outside letter-box to postmark the mail that had been dropped into it after the store was closed the night before, he found but one letter. It was addressed to Mrs. Josie Hart Sullivan, Pikeboro, Mo
IV.
"Are you the postmaster?"
Enoch dropped the tin scoop into the sugar-bin, and turned around. The voice was timid, almost appealing, and Enoch glanced from the pale, girlish face that confronted him to the bundle in her arms.
There was no mistaking the bundle. It was of that peculiar bulky shapelessness which betokens a very small infant.
"Yes, I'm the postmaster," answered Enoch kindly; "is there anything I can do for thee?"
The young creature looked down, and a faint color came into her transparent face.