Cinder Path Tales

A VIRGINIA JUMPER I REMEMBER it was on a Monday morn­ ing that I sat in my office at the gymna­ sium, opening a three-days' mail. I had been out of town, and found quite a formidable accumulation of letters on my desk. It was early, not later than eight o'clock. The November sun was shining, and the woodbine that framed the eastern window was blazing almost as brightly as the fire in the grate. It was all verycheerful. I was glad to get back again, and with an old cricket jacket around my shoulders I set my­ self to clean up the arrears of work. I always handle my mail on the principle of elimination; that is, I first open the un­ sealed envelopes containing circulars, then those of apparently little consequence, and so on down to the most interesting and important. Of course I sometimes make mistakes, but not very often. I distinctly remember that onthat day an envelope with a black border was saved for the very last. The postmark was illegible, and it was ad-