“Hollo! what’s all this?” said the driver when he got opposite the bag and Que.
“All this” neither stirred nor spoke.
“Whoa! whoa, there!” called the driver to his horses.
Now, if Que had been taking only a light, after-dinner nap, he would have been wide awake as soon as the cart stopped; for the hill was a long one, and the rumbling had been as long, and merely from lack of that lullaby, a well-conditioned boy should have wakened at once. But Que didn’t.
“I declare,” said the driver, “if it ain’t that bran new mail-boy!” Thereupon he went up and looked at him; but not being of a magnetic temperament, he didn’t wake Que that way.
“Bless the chick, if he isn’t dead asleep,” continued the driver, talking to himself. This driver had a habit of talking to himself, for he said, “then he was always sure of having somebody worth talking to.”
“Now, won’t those Pointers growl for their mail, when it is a couple of hours late? The first day, too! Que’ll catch it.” Then he gave Que a little roll, so that he rolled from the bag over into the grass.
“Well, I always was a good-natured fellow. Guess I’ll take his bag along for him, and save him the scolding.”
So the driver threw the bag on top of the load of laths, and left the bag-boy to sleep it out.
When Que had slept half an hour longer, he started up, staring wide awake.