The next morning he set off to look at his most distant quail traps, found them empty, and circled round to the village, where he posted his letter.
The days crept slowly by, and times grew more and more uncomfortable in the little sod house. Often when Obadiah was doing his "sums" his pencil would shy off to a corner of his slate and scribble a list of items something like this:
| 2 cents to Pa | $.02 |
| Stamps and paper (to send the D) | .06 |
| Powder and shot | .10 |
| Tea and sugar for Ma | .30 |
| 1 lb. raisens | .15 |
| 6 eggs | .08 |
| 1 lb. butter | .20 |
| .91 | |
| More powder | .09 |
| $1.00 |
Sometimes he would set down half a pound of "raisens" and add "candy for Sis, .05," but this was in his reckless moments. Sober second thought always convinced him that "raisens" would bring the greatest good to the greatest number about Thanksgiving time.
He casually asked his mother how long it took people to go to California.
"Well, Uncle Obie's newspapers always get here about four or five days after they are printed. Dear me! I must write to your Uncle Obie just as soon as we can spare the money for paper and stamps. He'll be glad to know we are all alive and well, and that's about all I can tell him."
Obadiah smiled broadly behind his geography and began reckoning the days. The answer might arrive about the 18th, but he heroically waited until the 21st before going to ask for it. He reached the village long before mail time, but saw so many things to consider in the grocery and provision line that he was almost surprised when the rattle of the "mail rig" and an ingathering of people told that the important time had arrived.
The Waddles had given up their box, so he could not expect to see his letter until it should be handed out to him from the general "W" pile. He waited patiently. The fortunate owners of lock boxes took out their letters with a proud air while the distributing was still going on. Others, who had mere open boxes, drew close and tried to read inverted superscriptions with poor success. Others who never had either letters or papers, but who came in at this hour from force of habit, stood near the stove or leaned on the counters and spoke of the weather and swapped feeble jokes. Finally the small wooden window was flung open. The little group got its papers and letters and gradually retired.
"Any letter for me?" cried Obadiah, his heart jumping.
"Nope; your pa got your papers last Saturday."