Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1914-09-12
The Postn1Qn's
Vacation
fBy Lucy Pratt.)

(By Lucy Pratt.)
I have lived in many places in the
course of my life. and l have received
my mail from all sorts and kinds OF
postmen, but among them all there is
one who stands out in vivid. particu
lar light of his own. To tell the truth
find myself occasionally wondering
what has finally become of him. AS
look back now on the quiet street in
the quiet suburb where he used tC
make his rounds, it seems to me that
his daily arrivals were the only events
that ever made any real impression on
the neighborhoOd and every one OF
these arrivals made an impression dis
tinct and clear.
1t was street where numbers OF
children played in small, front door
yards, played usually without varying
incident or excitement of any kind un.
til certain familiar figure was seen
approaching in the distance. Then a
snout would go up from the fortunate
young person who had made the dis
covery.
THE postman! The postman's
coming!"
1t was a signal for everything else
to stop, for all minor amusements to
the temporarily suspended. From the
small door yards the children would
come bouncing out to the sidewalk,
and then they would break into a joy
Gus canter in the direction of the ap-
preaching figure. Then his voice
would come ringing down the street.
1t had peculiar, resonant quality, and
l used to hear it distinctly from behind
closed windows.
"Hul-lo!' it would echo We'll,
how are you? Hul-loH Then his
laugh would come ringing out, too, as
they danced up to him and fell in with
quick little steps beside him as he
went tramping on with his huge bag Of
mail.
1t was always the same, morning
and afternoon. First they spied him
in the distance, then they bounced to
the sidewalk, and then they bore down
on him in joyous, welcoming body.
But one morning something tragic
and unexpected happened. They were
playing in the little green yards as
usual, when there came voice that
they had been waiting for many min
u.es.
''The postman! The postman's COM
ing!"
In a moment they were on the side
walk, down the walk they were rush
ing, the approaching figure was COM
ing nearer-nearer, and they were
charging straight on to meet him. But
what was the matter? They were
stopping. One by one they were stop
ping and drawing back The figure
was coming on, but dismay and disap-
pointment were written all over their
small faces.
1t wasn't their postman
received my mail with surprise
that morning because hadn't heard
the postman outside with the chill
dren. For two weeks it was the same
each morning. There were no joyous
sounds of welcome; the new postman
made his rounds silently. grimly; and
the children stood back as silently,
with troubled, wondering faces, and
watched him pass. But one morning
as they stood watching the distantly
figure with the same trou-
bled wondering faces. Something else
One of them ran forward
quickly, his eyes straining tensely
down the walk, and then there was a
cry:
Its the postman! It's our post
mani"
For moment they only stood there,
gazing unbelievingly-and then there
was wild rush. They were charging
down on him just as they used to-!
Straight down on him! Happier than
they had been for two long weeks, and
his voice was ringing out again just as
it used to.
"Hul-lo! Well, how are you? HUI
To-" Then came his old laugh.
AS | sat in my window and looked
out at him and at all the happy, rad
iating little faces around him, | felt
very much as if the sun had flashed
cut beautifully. unexpectedly, in the
sky, after long season of cloud and
gloom