ed. "Now I can go ahead with a
good conscience. "Well, I've been
up to ,your wife's. Jim, there's
nothing doing there". -SJie won't
Jim's face fell several inches.
The other resumed.
"But, Jim? I guess she loves
you, onjy she can't find a way to
go back on her word. So we've
got to use stratagems see? If
you can't go in at the front door
you've got to go in the bade"
"But she slammed the back
door in my face," frowned Jim.
"Now take it easy," Tiis friend
counselled him. "Tomorrow
morning we'll find a way." And
with this Jim Searles was forced
to be content.
The sound of hammering awak
ened him the .next morning. Slip
ping on 'his clothes, he went into
the smithy, to find Joe Turner
putting the last nails into a, huge
packing case which stood on his
cart, the horse being already har
bearing the words:
"ABIGAIL SMALE, Express
Office, Norbory. To be kept till
"What's that for, Joe?" inquir
ed Jim in amazement. '
"That's for you, me boy," an
swered the blacksmith "Hop in."
"But you aren't going to send
me to Abigail?" groaned Jim.
"She wouldn't take me. Send me
to Mrs. Searles."
"Now, see here, you thundering
old fool," shouted the blacksmith!
"Suppose I send you to your
wife and she refuses you what
aeu2. you-'r&,ut ut onitbgide.-J;
walk. Whereas if Abfey Sjttale
don't take you in youll have to
stay three months at the express
office. See?" y
, "Help me in, Joe' cried Jim,
climbing into the wagon with
alacrity, and a minute later the
blacksmith was nailing on the
slats of the lid. A few minutfes
later the cart drew up at the 'door
of the express office.
"Package for Miss Smale, Mrs.
Searles," called Joe.
"All right,' take it into the of
fice, Mr. Turner," answered the
lady; and Joe, with many grunt
ings and hangings which called
forth smothered ejaculations
from his freight, carried the pack
age 'into a dark corner.
"Now you keep still until the
proper times comes, Jim," he ex
horted, and, re-entering his cart,
whipped up the horse and drove
As soon as he -was gone Mrs.
Searles went over to the1 case and
looke'd at the label. She tried to
lift it, but ft was too heavy for
her. Her husband,, within, crouch
ing like a frog, with fingers grip
ping the slats, hardly, dared
"That looks like Joe Turner's
writing," lie heard his wifesay.
"Full of old iron, I guess. Some
trick of Joe's. He never did like
Abby, and I guess I don,'t either,
after the way she tried to set me
Jim heard her sob as slie turned
away. His heart leaped up. His
wife cared for him ! If she would
trust him again he would never
touch anjojthet droj)if, liujMciaaU,
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