Happy Days for Boys and Girls

The Point road was lonesome, and it must have been quite an hour before any one came that way. Then a man and two horses, and a cart loaded high with laths, were seen coming over the hill; that is, they would have been seen, if Que hadn’t been asleep just then.

“Hollo! what’s all this?” said the driver when he got opposite the bag and Que.

“All this” neither stirred nor spoke.

“Whoa! whoa, there!” called the driver to his horses.

Now, if Que had been taking only a light, after-dinner nap, he would have been wide awake as soon as the cart stopped; for the hill was a long one, and the rumbling had been as long, and merely from lack of that lullaby, a well-conditioned boy should have wakened at once. But Que didn’t.

“I declare,” said the driver, “if it ain’t that bran new mail-boy!” Thereupon he went up and looked at him; but not being of a magnetic temperament, he didn’t wake Que that way.

“Bless the chick, if he isn’t dead asleep,” continued the driver, talking to himself. This driver had a habit of talking to himself, for he said, “then he was always sure of having somebody worth talking to.”

“Now, won’t those Pointers growl for their mail, when it is a couple of hours late? The first day, too! Que’ll catch it.” Then he gave Que a little roll, so that he rolled from the bag over into the grass.

“Well, I always was a good-natured fellow. Guess I’ll take his bag along for him, and save him the scolding.”

So the driver threw the bag on top of the load of laths, and left the bag-boy to sleep it out.

When Que had slept half an hour longer, he started up, staring wide awake.

“I’ve been asleep,” said Que; and so he had.

“My bag’s been and gone,” continued Que; and so it had.

But he was a bright boy, and all the brighter, perhaps, for having just been asleep; so he looked round, which is a very good thing to do when you get into trouble, and the very thing that half the people in the world never think to do.

“There are tracks in the grass; and there is a cart-track in the dust, and it had two horses, and these foot-tracks went back to it. Why, the lath man must have taken it;” and so he had.

Que started towards the Point as fast as he could go, and consequently, when he got there, which was just fifty minutes after the bag got there, he had no breath left to ask any questions about it. Still he panted on to the post-office.

“Who are you?” asked the postmaster.

“I’m – a – bag,” gasped Que.

“Bag of wind!” said the postmaster, emphatically.

“A – mail – bag!” said Que.

“Humph! So you’re the new mail boy – are you? Send your bag down by express, and came yourself by accommodation – didn’t you?”

“The lath man’s got it; where is he?” Que had recovered his breath a little by this time.

“I don’t know anything about the lath man,” growled the postmaster.

But when Que began to cry, which he did at once, the postmaster couldn’t stand that, for he had no children of his own, and his feelings, consequently, weren’t hardened; so he dragged the bag from a corner, and threw it on Que’s back.

“There, take your bag, and go home, and don’t be two hours late the first day, next time.” He didn’t stop to think that there cannot be two first days to the same thing. Que didn’t stop to think of it, either, but started homewards as fast as his bow-legs would let him. I think he approximated more nearly to running, that day, than he ever had done in his life before.

Que’s nine brothers treated him with great respect, when he got home. The family had been to tea, but each one had saved some part of his supper for Que; so, though he had an indigestible mixture, there was plenty of it, – while it lasted.

“Did you have a good time, Que?”

“Was it fun?”

“Did you get anything for it?”

“Did you get tired?”

“Going to keep it up?”

“Can’t I go next time?”

“Do you like it?”

“Did you see any boys?”

“Anybody give you a lift?”

How all together the questions did come! But the confusion of them saved Que from the trouble of answering the nine boys, and as soon as there was a lull, his father said, —

“You were gone some time, sir; I hope you didn’t stop to play on the road?”

“O, no, sir,” said Que. “I haven’t played at all;” which was very true, you know.

“Did there seem to be many letters?” asked his mother; and be it understood, that she asked quite as much because Que looked as if the bag had been heavy, as from feminine curiosity.

“Didn’t notice, ma’am; the bag wasn’t very heavy;” and it wasn’t, except on his conscience, and he knew his mother didn’t mean that, at all.

For several weeks after that everything went on smoothly enough. Que had a pretty good time, and found it some fun, and felt that he was getting something for it, and didn’t get very tired, and kept it up, and never took any of his brothers with him, and liked the business, and saw a good many boys, and got a large number of “lifts” from hay-carts and wagons, and particularly from the lath man. So, in course of time, all the brothers’ questions were satisfactorily answered.

It is a way that the world has, to let you trip once, and then run on smooth ground some time, before it puts another snag in your way; and it made no exception in Que’s favor. His drab clothes kept clean a long time, in spite of the leather bag, and washed well when they were not clean. The Gingoo postmaster took a fancy to him, and the Point post master refrained from tormenting him. The mails were not unbearably heavy nor the month of July remarkably hot after the first. Que had a good appetite for his supper, and plenty of supper to show it on, and slept long and heavily every night and a part of every morning, and thought that the world was a pretty good kind of place, after all. But that was only because he hadn’t come to the second snag yet.

One day, in the first end of August, a wind sprang up. It wasn’t a very uncommonly high wind, only no one was expecting it, because the days had been muggy, and that made every one say, “Why, what a high wind there is to-day!”

You and I can’t tell why the wind should have gone on rising through the forenoon; but we can guess, which will answer our purpose just as well; for you know it is but little more than that that your father and his friends, and father’s father and his friends, do, when they meet together and “express opinions.”

I guess that the wind rose higher through the forenoon because, as soon as it began to play about in the morning, it caught the whisper of people’s surprise, and thought it would take the hint, and blow them up a little.

“What a dickens of a wind!” said Que, when he stood, or tried to stand, on top of the hill with his bag.

Que had learned all the easy ways of carrying that bag long ago; of strapping it in a little roll over his shoulders when it wasn’t very full; of carrying it on his head when it had enough inside to balance just right, and of strapping it round his body when it had nothing in it. But, as the days had been all stormless alike, he had been obliged to adapt himself only to the conditions of the bag, and not at all to the state of the weather.

As the masculine mind is capable of taking in only one idea at a time, as soon as Que put his mind to the state of the weather, it drew itself away from the manner of carrying the bag.

“Wish I had something between me and the wind,” sighed he.

Just then the wind blew off his hat, to teach him the polite order of mentioning two persons, of whom himself was one.