Manuscripts/Mixed Material [Winifred Morton]
Since the day Jim Moss had brought her as a little yankee bride to his tiny cottage there on the hill nearby which has been her home for many years, she took into her heart the joys and sorrows of her neighbors, her own had made her strangely understanding. It was to her folks came for advice and help. She always gave it freely.
Pausing for a moment she patted the golden curls of a chubby child who looked up at her with expectant eyes; his little body tense with excitement.
“The package came, but baby it's so large I don't believe you can manage it. I'm afraid it's much too heavy. Can't you wait till your ma can come and get it? No?. Well, lets see, hold out your arms and I will help you get started. Oh! it's mighty big for you son, I just don't believe you can make it home?"
Holding tight to the package the child struggled valiantly through the doorway making his way along the winding path; his little legs wobbled a bit as he crossed the bridge over a stream in the meadow, but he trudged on finally passing from sight, and the quiet which had marked this episode was broken.
“Poor little fellow” said the postmistress.
It was pleasant waiting there in the little Post Office,