way he was
puzzled, and stopping in the darkness, listened, hoping to hear again
the voice, outside himself, that had so short a time before put new
courage into his heart. When his way homeward led him again into the
street of frame houses he could not bear the sight and began to run,
wanting to get quickly out of the neighborhood that now seemed to him
utterly squalid and commonplace.

WILLUM'S VANILLA[4]

[Note 4: Copyright, 1919, by Harper & Brothers. Copyright, 1920, by
Edwina Stanton Babcock.]

BY EDWINA STANTON BABCOCK

From _Harper's Magazine_

The letter came while Mr. Pawket was chopping wood. His ax rested on a
stump and piles of white chips breathed fragrance around him as he stood
watching the buckboard of the Rural Free Delivery wind down the country
road.

The Rural Free Delivery consisted of a white horse, a creaking
buckboard, and a young woman of determined manner. A Rough Rider's hat
sat with an air of stern purpose on the Rural Free Delivery's dark head,
and a pair of surgeon's gauntlet gloves heightened her air of official
integrity.

As the buckboard approached the group of tulip-trees opposite Mr.
Pawket's residence he shoved back his hat and pulled a blue-spotted
handkerchief out of his hip pocket; passing the handkerchief over his
face, he greeted the Rural Free Delivery:

"Hot enough fer yer?"

It was really not so very hot, but if Mr. Pawket had not asked this
question he would have felt lacking in geniality. He did not, however,
go forward to intercept possible mail. There was the little iron box
with his name on it nailed to the tulip-tree; there was the red signal
to be adjusted. It pleased Mr. Pawket to realize that the government had
all this planned out for his special convenience and he was careful not
to upset regime. He watched the Rural Free Delivery climb down from the
buckboard, go to the little box on the tree, deposit one letter, lock
the box, and set up the signal. When the ceremony was concluded Mr.
Pawket came out from behind the barn. Walking with the heavy,
bent-kneed tread of the life-long farmer, he leaned upon the bars by the
cow-sheds.

"Many gitten 'em to-day?" he inquired.

The Rural Free Delivery climbed back into the buckboard; she pulled on
the gauntlets, replying with black-eyed reserve:

"Finn's folks had two--a asthma circler and a letter from that son they
thought was drownded. Mis' Sweetser's got a paper--- the one her
daughter is a ma