es, and very soon afterward his covered spring wagon stood in front of the gate. Fritz''s big spectacles flashed in the moonlight and his tremendous voice shouted a greeting to the postmaster of Ballinger''s. The mail-carrier jumped out and took the bridles from the mules, for he always fed them oats at Ballinger''s.
While the mules were eating from their feed bags old man Ballinger brought out the mail sack and threw it into the wagon.
Fritz Bergmann was a man of three sentiments--or to be more accurate-- four, the pair of mules deserving to be reckoned individually. Those mules were the chief interest and joy of his existence. Next came the Emperor of Germany and Lena Hildesmuller.
"Tell me," said Fritz, when he was ready to start, "contains the sack a letter to Frau Hildesmuller from the little Lena at the quarries? One came in the last mail to say that she is a little sick, already. Her mamma is very anxious to hear again."
"Yes," said old man Ballinger, "thar''s a letter for Mrs. Helterskelter, or some sich name. Tommy Ryan brung it over when he come. Her little gal workin'' over thar, you say?"
"In the hotel," shouted Fritz, as he gathered up the lines; "eleven years old and not bigger as a frankfurter. The close-fist of a Peter Hildesmuller!--some day I shall with a big club pound that man''s dummkopf--all in and out the town. Perhaps in this letter Lena will say that she is yet feeling better. So, her mamma will be glad. Auf wiedersehen, Herr Ballinger--your feets will take cold out in the night air."