at the end of the porch had rotted away and the roof over the
little platform was tumbling down. A pane of glass was missing from the
sitting room window.

But Joshua Hicks was not going to take any chances. So he playfully
ruffled the dog's hair to make sure that the collar was around the
animal's neck and having satisfied himself of this he strolled around in
back of the house for an official inspection of the puddle or the pail.
The United States government must be very thorough about these things;
puddles especially....

There, sure enough, was the puddle, a perennial puddle, fed by a
laughing, babbling, leaky drainpipe. Joshua Hicks dipped a finger in the
mud and made sure of the puddle. He then looked for the pail, and not
seeing it, put on his steel spectacles and glanced again at the
envelope.

"A puddle _or_ a pail," he said. "I reckon that's all right; it
says _or_ a pail."

He was going to knock on the kitchen door, but he bethought him to make
a supplementary inspection of the tumbled down porch roof. There could
be no two opinions about that; even a profiteering landlord would have
admitted the condition. And finally Postmaster Hicks satisfied himself
in the best of all ways of the condition of the window, and that was by
cutting his finger on a fragment of broken glass.

Staunch and true as he was, he was ready to shed his blood for his
country.

CHAPTER II

AN ECHO OF THE WAR

Having satisfied himself beyond all doubt that this little white house
was the proper destination of the letter, Joshua Hicks administered an
authoritative knock on the front door. The response came in the form of
a queer little old lady, who wore a very expectant look, a look almost
pathetically expectant. She was slight and wizened, and stood straight.
But her face was deeply wrinkled and her hair was snowy white.

There was something about her trim, erect little figure and white locks
and furrowed cheeks which aroused sympathy; it would be hard to say why.
Perhaps it was because her brisk little form suggested that she worked
hard, and her thin heavily veined hands and wrinkled face reminded one
that she ought not to work hard. There was a certain something about her
which suggested that she was fighting a brave fight and keeping a good
heart. At all events she wore a cheery smile.

"Joshua," she said, "I was kinder hoping to see you over to-day. It's
good of you to bring it yourself. I wanted to put my name