What was there about the request that seemed to stagger One-Eye? Looking at him, Johnnie saw that big Adam's-apple move convulsively, while the green eye swam, and the lantern jaw fell. "A--a doll?" the cowboy repeated feebly. Cis knew that somehow she had said the wrong thing, and hastened to ease the situation. "Oh, just a teeny, weeny one," she compromised. "You see, Mr. One-Eye, I've never had but one, and I thought before I got _too_ big--because I've seen small dolls that were so sweet!--and I--and I----" But there she stopped, blushing painfully. To cover her embarrassment, she dashed into her closet room and brought out Letitia, ragged dress and all, as if the sight of the poor beloved would speak for her more eloquently than she could for herself. Which proved to be the case. For One-Eye stared at Letitia till that single eye fairly bored through her sawdust frame. Next he took her up and turned her about, his lips shut tight. His mustache stood up, he gulped, and his hand trembled. Then suddenly he rose. "Got t' go," he announced. He went. He forgot to shake hands. He pulled the big hat far down across his forehead. He stubbed his toe on the doorsill. Cis and Johnnie hung out of the window a long time after, talking low together, so as not to be overheard by the Gambonis, for the early December night was surprisingly warm, and the building had all its windows up. They speculated upon One-Eye's conduct. Johnnie was distressed--and on two scores: first, that One-Eye should have gone so abruptly; second, that Cis, when given a chance to ask for something, had not named a gift worth having, such as another book. "But you've got more books now than you've had time to read!" she protested. "And anyhow One-Eye is sure to give you a Christmas present." She was not cast down, but smiled at the sky, and talked of the new doll, which she intended to name--Edwarda. "Should think you'd name her after One-Eye," went on Johnnie; "long's he's givin' her to you." "_How_ could I name her after him?" she retorted. "What would I call her?--Two-Eyes? I'm not going to spoil her by giving her a crazy name." Eager to have her dreams to herself, she forsook the window for her own room, and shut the door. The next morning, while Johnnie and Grandpa were returning from the field of Gettysburg, here, ascending from the area came the shrill voice of the Italian janitress: "Johnnie Smith! Johnnie Smith!" That meant the postman. And the postman was an event, for he came not oftener than once in three months, this to fetch a long, official envelope that had to do with Grandpa's pension. But the pension was not due again for several weeks. So what did the postman have to leave?