too."

Just then, in looking across the meadow lying between his house and the
main road, he saw the short form of Peter Slogan approaching.

"He's coming here," thought Westerfelt. "She has asked him to bring
the letters, even before breakfast. That's the little woman's way of
showing her pride. What a contemptible scoundrel I am!"

But as he continued to watch the approaching figure he was surprised to
note that Slogan was displaying more energy than usual. The little,
short man was taking long steps, and now and then jumping over an
obstacle instead of going around it. And when he had reached the gate
he leaned on it and stared straight at Westerfelt, as if he had lost
his power of speech. Then it was that Westerfelt remarked that
Slogan's face looked troubled, and that a general air of agitation
rested on him.

"I wish you'd step out, if you please, John," he said, after a moment,
"I've been walkin' so blamed fast I've mighty nigh lost my breath. I'm
blowin' like a stump-suckin' hoss."

Westerfelt went to him.

"What is the matter, Slogan?" he questioned, in a tone of concern.

"We've had big trouble over our way," panted Slogan. "Sally fell off'n
the foot-log into the creek this mornin' an' was drowned."

"Drowned! You don't mean that, Slogan!" cried Westerfelt, in horror;