So when Captain Shad declared the illness of the South Harniss
postmaster--confined to his bed with sciatica--to be due to his having
"stooped to pick up one of them eighty-two page Wild West letters of
yours, Mary-'Gusta, and 'twas so heavy he sprained his back liftin'
it," Mary only laughed and ventured the opinion that the postmaster's
sprained back, if he had one, was more likely due to a twist received
in trying to read both sides of a postcard at once. Which explanation,
being of the Captain's own brand of humor, pleased the latter immensely.

"Maybe you're right, Mary-'Gusta," he chuckled. "Maybe that's what
'twas. Seth [the postmaster] is pure rubber so far as other folks' mail
is concerned; maybe he stretched the rubber too far this time and it
snapped."

Zoeth did not joke much--joking was not in his line--but he showed
his relief at the improvement in the firm's affairs in quieter but as
unmistakable ways. When Mary was at the desk in the evenings after the
store had closed, busy with the books, he would come and sit beside her,
saying little but occasionally laying his hand gently on her shoulder
or patting her arm and regarding her with a look so brimful of love and
gratitude that it made her feel almost guilty and entirely unworthy.

"Don't, Uncle Zoeth," she protested, on one such occasion. "Don't look
at me like that. I--I--Really, you make me feel ashamed. I haven't done
anything. I am not doing half enough."

He shook his head.

"You're doin' too much, I'm afraid, Mary-'Gusta," he said. "You're
givin' up everything a girl like you had ought to have and that your
Uncle Shadrach and I had meant you should have. You're givin' it up just
for us and it ain't right. We ain't worthy of it."

"Hush, hush, Uncle Zoeth! Please! When I think what you have given up
for me--"

"'Twa'n't nothin', Mary-'Gusta. You came to your Uncle Shadrach and to
me just when we needed somethin' to keep our lives sweet. Mine especial
was bitter and there was danger 'twould always be so. And then we
brought you over from Ostable in the old buggy and--and the Almighty's
sunshine came with you. You was His angel. Yes, sir! His angel, that's
what you was, only we didn't know it then. I was pretty sore and bitter
in those days, thought I never could forget. And yet--and yet, now I
really am forgettin'--or, if I don't forget, I'm more reconciled. And
you've done it for me, Mary-'Gusta."

Mary was puzzled. "Forget what?" she a