"My word, what a post! I say, Preston, I add to your burdens pretty
considerably."

"It don't matter, sir, I'm sure," said the postman civilly. "There's not
a deal of letters delivered in this village."

"No, we don't trouble pen and ink much in Upcote," said the Rector; "and
it's my belief that half the boys and girls that do learn to read and
write at school make a point of forgetting it as soon as they can--for
all practical purposes, anyway."

"Well, there's a deal of newspapers read now, sir, compared to what there
was."

"Newspapers? Yes, I do see a _Reynolds_ or a _People_ or two about on
Sunday. Do you think anybody reads much else than the betting and the
police news, eh, Preston?"

Preston looked a little vacant. His expression seemed to say, "And why
should they?" The Rector, with his arms full of the post, smiled again
and turned away, looking back, however, to say:

"Wife all right again?"

"Pretty near, sir; but she's had an awful bad time, and the doctor--he
makes her go careful."

"Quite right. Has Miss Puttenham been looking after her?"

"She's been most kind, sir, most attentive, she have," said the postman