mail-robber.

"Ye tuk a package deposited in the United States' mail and converted it
to your own use," he vociferated.

"'Twar neither stamped nor addressed," old Petrie gruffly contended,
albeit obviously disconcerted.

Dysart even sought to induce the postmaster to send a complaint of the
rider to the postal authorities.

"I got too much respec' fur my job," replied that worthy, jocosely eying
Tank across the counter of the store. "I ain't goin' ter let on ter the
folks in Washington that we send babies about in the mail-bags hyar in
the mountings."

The social acquaintance of the little man had necessarily been rather
limited, but one day a neighbor, attracted to the Petrie cabin by idle
curiosity concerning the waif robbed from the mails, gazed upon him for
one astonished instant and then proclaimed his identity.

"Nare Gilhooley should ever cross Storm Mounting, 'cordin' ter yer
sayin', Petey, an' hyar ye hev been totin' Ross Gilhooley's gran'son
back an' forth across Old Stormy, an' all yer spare time ye spend on yer
hands an' knees barkin' like a dog jes' ter pleasure him."

Peter Petrie changed countenance suddenly. His square, bristly, grim jaw
hardened and stiffened, so dear to him were all his stubborn convictions
and grizzly, ancient feuds. But he bestirred himself to cause
information to be conveyed to Bruce Gilhooley of his son's whereabouts
for he readily suspected that the family had fled to Minervy Sue's in
Georgia. Peter Petrie sustained in this act of conscience a grievous
wrench, for it foreshadowed parting with the choice missive filched from
the mail-bag, but he was not unmindful of the anguish and bereavement of
the mother, and somehow the thought was peculiarly coercive at this
season.

"I don't want ter even up with King Herod, now, sure!" he averred to
himself one night as he sat late over the embers, reviewing his plans
all made. He thought much in these lone hours as he heard the wind speed
past, the trees crack under their weight of snow, and noted through the
tiny window the glister of a great star of a supernal lustre, high above
the pines, what a freight of joy the tidings of this child would bear to
the bleeding hearts of his kindred. Albeit so humble, the parallel must
needs arise suggesting the everlasting joy the existence of another
Child had brought to the souls of all kindreds, all peoples. "Peace,
peace," he reiterated, as the red coals crumbled and the gray ash
sprea