Bressant

It is not often that our prayers are answered, nor, when they are, does

the answer come in the form our expectations shaped. Occasionally,

however--and then, perhaps, with a promptness and completeness that

force us to a realization of how extravagant and senseless our desires

are--does fulfillment come upon us.

As Bressant's strange petition went up through the storm, a sleigh came

along from the direction of the railway-station. It was nothing but a

cart on runners, and painted a dingy, grayish blue; it was loaded with a

dozen tin milk-cans much defaced by hard usage, each one stopped with an

enormous cork. The driver was clad in an overcoat which once had been

dark brown or black, but had worn to a greenish yellow, except where the

collar turned up around the throat, and showed the original color. His

head and most of his face were enveloped in a knit woolen comforter, and

mittens of the same make and material protected his hands. His legs were

wrapped up in a gray horse-blanket. He was whitened here and there with

snow, and snow was packed between the necks of the milk-cans. He drove

directly toward the boarding-house, and he and Bressant caught sight of

one another at the same moment.

"Hallo!" called the stranger; "you're Bressant, I guess, ain't you? I've

got something for you." Here he drew up beneath the window. "You see, I

was down to the depot getting some milk aboard the up-train, and Davis,

the telegraph-man, came up and asked me, 'Bill Reynolds, are you going

up to Abbie's? 'cause,' says he, 'here's a telegraph has come for the

student up there--him that's going to marry Sophie Valeyon--and our boy

he's down with the influenza,' says he. 'I'm you're man!' says I, 'let's

have it!' and here 'tis," added Mr. Reynolds, producing a yellow

envelope from the bottom of his overcoat pocket.

Bressant had heard little or nothing of the explanation volunteered by

the bearer of the message, but he at once recognized the yellow

telegraph-envelope, and comprehended the rest. But, ere he could leave

the window to go down and receive it, he saw the fat servant-girl, who

had witnessed the scene from the parlor, run down to the front-gate,

sinking above her ankles at every step, take the envelope from Bill's

mittened paw, exchange a word and a grin with him, and then return,

carefully stepping into the holes she had made going out.

Bill gave a nod of good-will to Bressant's window--for Bressant was no

longer there--whipped up his nag, and jingled off with his milk-cans. In

another minute the fat servant-girl, after stamping the remains of the

snow off her shoes upon the door-mat, opened the door, and introduced

the dispatch and her own smiling physiognomy. Bressant snatched the

former, and shut the door in the latter, before the hand-wiping and

haranguing had time to begin.