ty of New Salem and Abe began to carry the letters in his hat
again. Every day Ann was looking for him as he came by in the dim light
of the early morning on his way to work.

"Anything for me?" she would ask.

"No mail in since I saw you, Ann," was the usual answer.

Often he would say: "I'm afraid not, but here--you take these letters and
look through 'em and make sure."

Ann would take them in her hands, trembling with eagerness, and run
indoors to the candlelight, and look them over. Always she came back with
the little bundle of letters very slowly as if her disappointment were a
heavy burden.

"There'll he one next mail if I have to write it myself," Abe said one
morning in October as he went on.

To Harry Needles who was with him that morning he said:

"I wonder why that fellow don't write to Ann. I couldn't believe that he
has been fooling her but now I don't know what to think of him. Every day
I have to deliver a blow that makes her a little paler and thinner. It
hurts me like smashing a finger nail. I wonder what has happened to the
fellow."

The mail stage was late that evening. As it had not come at nine Mr. Hill
went home and left Abe in the store to wait for his mail. The stage
arrived a few minutes later. It came as usual in a cloud of dust and a
thunder of wheels and hoofs mingled with the crack of the lash, the
driver saving his horses for this little display of pride and pomp on
arriving at a village. Abe examined the little bundle of letters and
newspapers which the driver had left with him. Then he took a paper and
sat down to read in the firelight. While he was thus engaged the door
opened softly and Ann Rutledge entered. The Postmaster was not aware
of her presence until she touched his arm.

"Please give me a letter," she said.

"Sit down, Ann," said he, very gently, as he placed a chair in the
fire-glow.

She took it, turning toward him with a look of fear and hope. Then he
added:

"I'm sorry but the truth is it didn't come."

"Don't--don't tell me that again," she pleaded in a broken voice, as she
leaned forward covering her face with her hands.

"It is terrible, Ann, that I have to help in this breaking of your heart
that is going on. I seem to be the head of the hammer that hits you so
hard but the handle is in other hands. Honestly, Ann, I wish I could do
the suffering for you--every bit of it--and give your poor heart a rest.
Hasn't he written you this summer?"

"Not sin