se. Nothing good
ever lasted long. When she went up one step she always slid back two. It
had been that way all her life.

Hiram heard of it and came rattling into the village, where he expressed
himself at a town meeting in language distinguished for its clearness
and force. The result was Abbie's application for the position of
postmistress.

This time he didn't consult the trustees or anybody else. He wrote a
private note to the Postmaster-General, who was his friend, and the
appointment came by return mail.

Mr. Taylor would often chat with her through the little window with
which she held converse with the public--he often came himself for his
mail--but she made no mention of her state of mind. She was earning her
living, and she was for the time content. He had helped her and she was
grateful--more than this it was not her habit to dwell upon. One thing
she was convinced of: she wouldn't keep the position long.

Her mother knew her misgivings, and so did a small open wood fire in
the sitting-room. Many a night the two would croon together. The
mother shrivelled and faded; Abbie herself being over thirty--not
so fresh-looking as she had been--not so pretty--never had been very
pretty. Her mother knew, too, how hard she had always struggled to do
something better; how she had studied drawing at the normal school when
she was preparing to be a teacher; and how she had spent weeks in the
elaboration of wall-paper patterns, which she had sent to the Decorative
Art Society in Boston, only to have them returned to her in the same
wrapper in which they had been mailed, with the indorsement "not
suitable." That's why she didn't think she was going to be postmistress
long. Far into the night these talks would continue-long after the other
neighbors had gone to bed--nine o'clock maybe--sometimes as late as
ten--an unheard-of thing in Taylorsville, where everybody was up at
daylight.

Then one day an extraordinary thing happened--extraordinary so far as
her modest post-office was concerned. A poster appeared on the wall of
her office--a huge card, big as the top of a school desk, bearing in
large type this legend: "Rock Creek Copper Company. Keep & Co., Agents,"
and at the bottom, in small type, directions as to the best way of
securing the stock before the lists were closed. She had noticed the
name of the company emblazoned on many of the communications addressed
to people in the village--the richer ones--but here it