And time was flying. The
postman, when he came, came at five, and she heard the kitchen
clock strike five before the first screw fell out into her hand.
She got them all out finally, and the door hung crazily, held
only by the padlock. She ran to the window. The postman was
coming along the street, and she hammered madly at the glass. When
he saw her he turned in at the gate, and she got her letter and
ran down the stairs.
She heard his step on the porch outside, and called to him.
"Is that you, Briggs?"
The postman was "Briggs" to the hill.
"Yes."
"If I slide a letter out under the door, will you take it to the
post-office for me? It's important."
"All right. Slide."
She had put it partially under the door when a doubt crept into her
mind. That was not Briggs's voice. She made a frantic effort to
draw the letter back, but stronger fingers than hers had it beyond
the door. She clutched, held tight. Then she heard a chuckle, and
found herself with a corner of the envelope in her hand.
Pages:
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482