lug of tobacco, Hance, and lay your ten cents
in the cash drawer, and then you can weigh out that butter of Mis'
Simpson's."

When there was a prospect of a post-office at the Cross-roads, there was
only one opinion as to who was the man best calculated to adorn the
position of postmaster.

"The store's right yere, Tom," said his patrons, "an' you're right yere.
Ye can write and spell off things 'thout any trouble, an' I reckon ye
wouldn't mind the extry two dollars comin' in ev'ry month."

"Lord! Lord!" groaned Tom, who was stretched full length on the floor of
the porch when the subject was first broached. "Do you want a man to kill
himself out an' out, boys? Work himself into eternal kingdom come? Who'd
do the extra work, I'd like to know--empty out the mail-bag and hand out
the mail, and do the extra cussin'? That would be worth ten dollars a
month. And, like as not, the money would be paid in cheques, and who's
goin' to sign 'em? Lord! I believe you think a man's immortal soul could
be bought for fifty cents a day. You don't allow for the wear and tear on
a fellow's constitution, boys."

But he allowed himself to be placed in receipt of the official salary in
question, and the matter of extra labour settled itself. Twice a week a
boy on horseback brought the mail-bag from Barnesville, and when this
youth drew rein before the porch Big Tom greeted him from indoors with
his habitual cordiality.

"'Light, sonny, 'light!" he would call out in languidly sonorous tones;
"come in and let these fellows hear the news. Just throw that mail-bag on
the counter and let's hear from you. Plenty of good water down at the
spring. Might as well take that bucket and fill it if you want a drink.
I've been waiting for just such a man as you to do it. These fellows
would sit here all day and let a man die. I can't get anything out of
'em. I've about half a mind to quit sometimes and leave them to engineer
the thing themselves. Look here now, is any fellow going to attend to
that mail, or is it going to lie there till I have to get up and attend
to it myself? I reckon that's what you want. I reckon that'd just suit
you. Jehoshaphat! I guess you'd like me to take charge of the eternal
universe."

It was for the mail he waited with his usual complement of friends and
assistants on the afternoon referred to at the opening of this chapter.
The boy was behind time, and, under the influence of the heat,
conversation had at first flagged