"You are out of breath, Herbert. Have you been running?"

"Yes, I've got a letter for you, and I wanted to bring it before I
went round with the rest."

"A letter! Where from?" asked the widow, with curiosity, for she held
very little intercourse with the world outside of Wrayburn.

"It's postmarked Randolph, as well as I can make out. While you are
reading it, I'll run and leave my letters, and be back to hear the
news."

In a hurry to do all his errands and get back, Herbert ran all the
way. While his eyes were fixed on one of the envelopes, he ran full
against James Leech, who was walking up the street with a pompous air.

In the encounter James's hat came off, and he was nearly thrown down.

"What made you run into me?" he demanded, wrath-fully.

"Excuse me, James," said Herbert, recovering himself.

"You did it on purpose," said his enemy, glaring at him angrily.

"That isn't very likely," said Herbert. "I got hit as hard as you
did."

"Your hat didn't get knocked off. Pick it up," said James,
imperiously, pointing to it as it lay in the path.