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“Why, Miss Elizabeth, it was exceedingly obliging of you; on such a night, too. Margaret, my dear”—that was his wife—“mix a good stiff toddy for Miss Elizabeth, and see that she drinks it.”

I never could stand the taste or smell of alcohol. Uncle William says if I’d of had any sense and swallowed down that toddy like medicine, it might of saved the day.

Anyhow, Mr. Brightman had the girls scampering around getting his grip201 packed; one bringing his big top coat, another his muffler and umbrella; and at the same time here they were all three making up a list of a thousand and one things they wanted him to bring down from St. Louis.

Seems like he was ready in a jiffy, and by that time I was feeling sort of thawed out and I went along with him. It was a mighty big comfort to have him, too. He was as polite as could be, and kept saying:

“Mind out, Miss Elizabeth! Be careful here; slow now. My! but it’s cold! Goodness knows what damage this won’t do to the fruit trees.” He walked to my very door with me, helping me along. Then he went on to the station. When the midnight express came tearing around the bend, rumbling like thunder and shaking the very house, I’d got my clothes changed and was drinking a hot cup of tea side the fire I’d started up.

There was a lot of comfort knowing that Mr. Brightman had got aboard that train. Well, we all more or less selfish creatures in this world! I don’t believe I’d of slept a wink that night if I’d of left that postal card lying in the office.

Uncle William will have it that this heavy cold all came of that walk; though he got to admit with me that this family been noted for weak lungs as far back as I ever heard of.

Anyway, I’d been sick on and off all spring; sometimes hardly able to stand on my feet when I’d drag myself down to that postoffice. When one morning, just like lightning out of a clear sky, here comes an official document from Washington, discharging me from my position as postmistress of Stonelift. I shook all over when I read it, just like I had a chill; and I felt sick at my stomach and my teeth chattered. No one was in the office when I opened that document except Vance Wallace, and I made him read it and I asked him what he made out it meant. Just like when you can’t understand a thing because you don’t want to. He says:

“You’ve lost your position, Lizabeth. That what it means; they’ve passed you up.”

I took it away from him kind of dazed, and says:

“We got to see about it. We got to go see Uncle William; see what he says. Maybe it’s a mistake.”

“Uncle Sam don’t make mistakes,” said Vance. “We got to get up a petition in this here community; that’s what I reckon we better do, and send it to the government.”

Well, it don’t seem like any use to dwell on this subject. The whole community was indignant, and pronounced it an outrage. They decided, in justice to me, I had to find out what I got that dismissal for. I kind of thought it was for my poor health, for I would of had to send in my resignation sooner or later, with these fevers and cough. But we got information it was for incompetence and negligence in office, through certain accusations of me reading postal cards and permitting people to help themselves to their own mail. Though I don’t know as that ever happened except with Nathan Brightman always reaching over and saying:

“Don’t disturb yourself, Miss Elizabeth,” when I’d be sorting out letters and he could reach his mail in the box just as well as not.

But that’s all over and done for. I been out of office two months now, on the 26th. There’s a young man named Collins, got the position. He’s the son of some wealthy, influential St. Louis man; a kind of delicate, poetical-natured young fellow that can’t get along in business, and they used their influence to get him the position when it was vacant. They thinks it’s the very place for him. I reckon ’tis. I hope in my soul he’ll prosper. He’s a quiet, nice-mannered young man. Some of the community thought of boycotting him. It was Vance Wallace started the notion. I told them they