to
drowsiness or heated unconscious naps.

In such napping and drowsiness the present occupants of the post-office
were indulging. Upon two empty goods boxes two men in copperas-coloured
jean garments reclined in easy attitudes, their hats tilted over their
eyes, while several others balanced their split-seated chairs against the
house or the post-porch and dozed.

Inside the store the postmaster and proprietor tilted his chair against
the counter and dozed also, though fitfully, and with occasional restless
changes of position and smothered maledictions against the heat. He was
scarcely the build of man to sleep comfortably at high noon in midsummer.
His huge, heavy body was rather too much for him at any time, but during
the hot weather he succumbed beneath the weight of his own flesh. Hamlin
County knew him as "Big Tom D'Willerby," and, indeed, rather prided
itself upon him as a creditable possession. It noted any increase in his
weight, repeated his jokes, and bore itself patiently under his satire.
His indolence it regarded with leniency not entirely untinged with secret
exultation.

"_The_ derndest, laziest critter," his acquaintances would remark to each
other; "the _derndest_ I do reckon that ever the Lord made. Nigh unto
three hundred he weighs, and never done a lick o' work in his life. Not
one! Lord, no! Tom D'Willerby work? I guess not. He gits on fine without
any o' that in his'n. Work ain't his kind. It's a pleasin' sight to see
him lyin' round thar to the post-office an' the boys a-waitin' on to him,
doin' his tradin' for him, an' sortin' the mail when it comes in. They're
ready enough to do it jest to hear him gas."

And so they were. About eight years before the time the present story
commences, he had appeared upon the scene apparently having no object in
view but to make himself as comfortable as possible. He took up his
quarters at one of the farm-houses among the mountains, paid his hostess
regularly for the simple accommodations she could afford him, and, before
three months passed, had established his reputation and, without making
the slightest apparent effort, had gathered about him a large circle of
friends and admirers.

"His name's D'Willerby," Mrs. Pike would drawl when questioned about him,
"an' he's kin to them D'Willerbys that's sich big bugs down to
D'Lileville. I guess they ain't much friendly, though. He don't seem to
like to have nothin' much to say about 'em. Seems like he has m