stood
near the stove or leaned on the counters and spoke of the weather and
swapped feeble jokes. Finally the small wooden window was flung open.
The little group got its papers and letters and gradually retired.

"Any letter for me?" cried Obadiah, his heart jumping.

"Nope; your pa got your papers last Saturday."

"But--ain't there a letter--for me?"

The man hastily ran over the half-dozen "W" missives. "Nope."

Obadiah's heart was heavy as lead now. He went out into the sleety
weather and faced the long walk home. His eyes were so blurred with
tears he could hardly see and his feet came near slipping.

A derisive shout came from across the street: "Hallo! Pretty bad
'waddling' this weather!"

Obadiah pulled his hat over his eyes and tramped on in scornful
silence.

And now another voice called out to him, a voice from the rear: "Oh,
say! Waddle! Come back here--package for ye!" Obadiah hastily went
back, his heart leaping.

"Registered package," explained the postmaster. "'Most forgot it. Sign
your name on that line. Odd name you've got. No danger your mail going
to some other fellow."

Obadiah laughed and said he guessed not, and hardly believing his
senses, again started for home, and soon struck out upon the
far-stretching road. In the privacy of the great prairie he looked at
the package again. How heavy it was for such a small one, and how
important looked the long row of stamps; and there was Uncle Obadiah's
name in one corner, proving that it was truly the answer!

There must be a jackknife in it, or something besides the dollar. He
cut the stout twine, removed the wrapper, and lifted the cover of a
strong paper box. There was something wrapped in neat white paper and
feeling very solid.

Obadiah removed the paper, and a heavy, handsome and very fat leather
purse slipped into his hand. He opened it. It had several
compartments, and in each one were three or more hard, flat, round
objects wrapped in more white paper to keep them from jingling, very
likely.

Obadiah unwrapped one of these round, flat objects, and even in the
dull light of the drizzling and fading November day he could see that
it was a bright, clean, shining silver dollar--and had no hole in it.

With hands fairly shaking with joy, he returned the purse to the box
and sped homeward. He ran all the way, only slowing up for breath now
and then, but it was dark, and the poor little supper was waiting when
he reached the house.