"Are you hurt? Can I help you?" asked a pleasant voice.
Marty looked up. It was the postmaster's wife.
"Oh, my punkins!" choked Marty.
But the postmaster's wife bent over and questioned kindly, and Marty told her about Tim and Uncle Eb and the pumpkins, and when she was through there were tears in the eyes of the postmaster's wife. By this time a crowd of men and boys had gathered. It bruised Marty's sensitive heart that they should laugh and joke about her precious pumpkins. When Uncle Eb came back with the team he was scowling, and when Marty asked him to let her pick up the pumpkins he said:
"Let 'em go. I don't want 'em."
And all the way home he was silent, and Marty sat beside him biting her lips to keep from crying. It seemed to her since her pumpkins were gone that nothing else remained in life. As she crept off to bed that night she heard Aunt Tucker say,
"Now, Ebenezer, you see what comes from foolin' with children's bringin' up."
All the next day Marty's heart ached, although Uncle Eb had said, while he was rubbing his curry-comb and brush together, "Never mind, child," in a tone that showed her that he was still kindly. Towards evening the Perkins boy came with the mail.
"Here's a paper fer you, Uncle Eb," he said, "an' a letter fer Marty."
Marty flushed and trembled. The whole family looked at her. She had never before received a letter.