“The same to you, Marie-Celeste,” replies the gray-coated newcomer, clasping the little, friendly hand in his.
“And how did it come out?” she asks in the next breath.
“It came out all right,” and Mr. Hartley leaned back and rested both elbows on the rail behind him.
“I knew you would win,” said Marie-Celeste complacently; “I felt perfectly sure of it, Chris.”
“And what is more, Bradford came in second.”
“You don't mean it!” for Bradford was assistant postman on the route that included the Terrace, and Marie-Celeste was naturally quite overwhelmed at the thought that both their men should have won. The winning in question had occurred at a foot-race the night before, an accomplishment somewhat in the line of the daily training of the average postman, and for which Christopher Hartley in particular had long shown a special aptitude.
“It was quite a big prize, wasn't it?” questioned Marie-Celeste, really longing to know the exact amount; but Mr. Hartley, not divining that, simply answered, his kind face radiant as a boy's, “The largest yet, Marie-Celeste--enough to take me home for two months this summer, and pay Bradford, besides, for doing double work while I'm gone. He can manage the route easily; the mails fall off more than half in the summer, you know.”
“Well, isn't that splendid!” with a world of meaning in her inflection and a face every whit as radiant as Mr. Hartley's own. “And now won't you please tell me everything about the race, from the _start_ to the _finish_,” proud to show that she remembered the terms she had heard him use; and only too glad of the opportunity, Chris proceeded to give a graphic narrative of all the details of the exciting contest. Wide-eyed and interested, Marie-Celeste sat and listened, furtively scanning the street now and then for fear of interruption by some of the children of the neighborhood.
“Have you told any of the others?” she asked eagerly, when the story's end had been reached, and hoping in her heart of hearts that she was to have the pleasure of imparting news of such paramount importance to the neighborhood.
“Never a one; I dodged a crowd of them round the corner there for the sake of telling you first;” wherefrom it was easy to discover that Mr. Hartley had a somewhat partial regard for his earnest little listener. It was a decidedly partial regard, for that matter, and with reason. Had any other child friend along his route, no matter how friendly, questioned him day after day as to how he was getting on with his training for the race? Had any other among them promised to be on hand at the latest delivery on the afternoon succeeding it, so as to learn just what the issue had been, and at a time when he would be able to stop and tell about it? Would any one else in the world have thought of suggesting that he should give three short little whistles when he reached the Browns', in Remsen Street, so that she should know just how near he was? Surely no one; and it was just this surpassing interest in every living body, to the utter forgetting of all that concerned herself, that made Marie-Celeste different from other children, that made everybody love her, and that makes it worth while for me to try to tell this story of one summer in her blessed little life.