Page:Hopkinson Smith--Tom Grogan.djvu/117

 Tom's eyes kindled as she looked into his manly face. She loved pluck and grit. She knew the color of the blood running in this young fellow's veins.

Week after week passed, and though now and then she caught the mutterings of distant thunder, as Cully or some of the others overheard a remark on the ferry-boat or about the post-office, no other signs of the threatened storm were visible.

Then it broke.

One morning an important-looking envelope lay in her letter-box. It was long and puffy, and was stamped in the upper corner with a picture of a brewery in full operation. One end bore an inscription addressed to the postmaster, stating that in case Mr. Thomas Grogan was not found within ten days, it should be returned to Schwartz & Co., Brewers.

The village post-office had several other letter-boxes, faced with glass, so that the contents of each could be seen from the outside. Two of these contained similar envelopes, looking equally important, one being addressed to McGaw.

When he had called for his mail, the close