Part 15 (1/2)

This last remark was too true and sad to be pa.s.sed over in silence. Old Mrs Flint's age had induced a spirit of temporary oblivion as to surroundings, which made her act, especially to her favourite cat, in a manner that seemed unaccountable. It was impossible to conceive that cruelty could actuate one who all her life long had been a very pattern of tenderness to every living creature. When therefore she suddenly changed from stroking and fondling her cat to pulling its tail, tweaking its nose, slapping its face, and tossing it off her lap, it is only fair to suppose that her mind had ceased to be capable of two simultaneous thoughts, and that when it was powerfully fixed on sausages she was not aware of what her hands were doing to the cat.

”You'll excuse our homely arrangements, Miss Lillycrop,” said Mr Flint, as he helped his guest to the good things on the table. ”I never could get over a tendency to a rough-and-ready sort o' feedin'. But you'll find the victuals good.”

”Thank you, Mr Flint. I am sure you must be very tired after the long walks you take. I can't think how postmen escape catching colds when they have such constant walking in all sorts of weather.”

”It's the constancy as saves us, ma'am, but we don't escape altogether,”

said Flint, heaping large supplies on his grandmother's plate. ”We often kitch colds, but they don't often do us damage.”

This remark led Miss Lillycrop, who had a very inquiring mind, to induce Solomon Flint to speak about the Post-Office, and as that worthy man was enthusiastic in regard to everything connected with his profession, he willingly gratified his visitor.

”Now, I want to know,” said Miss Lillycrop, after the conversation had run on for some time, and appet.i.tes began to abate,--”when you go about the poorer parts of the city in dark nights, if you are ever attacked, or have your letters stolen from you.”

”Well, no, ma'am--never. I can't, in all my long experience, call to mind sitch a thing happenin'--either to me or to any other letter-carrier. The worst of people receives us kindly, 'cause, you see, we go among 'em to do 'em service. I did indeed once hear of a letter being stolen, but the thief was not a man--he was a tame raven!”

”Oh, Solomon!” said May, with a laugh. ”Remember that Grannie hears you.”

”No, she don't, but it's all the same if she did. Whatever I say about the Post-Office I can give chapter and verse for. The way of it was this. The letter-carrier was a friend o' mine. He was goin' his rounds at Kelvedon, in Ess.e.x, when a tame raven seized a money letter he had in his hand and flew away with it. After circlin' round the town he alighted, and, before he could be prevented, tore the letter to pieces.

On puttin' the bits together the contents o' the letter was found to be a cheque for thirty pounds, and of course, when the particulars o' the strange case were made known the cheque was renewed!--There now,”

concluded Solomon, ”if you don't believe that story, you've only got to turn up the Postmaster-General's Report for 1862, and you'll find it there on page 24.”

”How curious!” said Miss Lillycrop. ”There's another thing I want to know,” she added, looking with deep interest into the countenance of her host, while that stalwart man continued to stow incredible quant.i.ties of sausages and crumpets into his capacious mouth. ”Is it really true that people post letters without addresses?”

”True, ma'am? why, of course it's true. Thousands of people do. The average number of letters posted without addresses is about eighty a day.”

”How strange! I wonder what causes this?”

Miss Lillycrop gazed contemplatively into her teacup, and Solomon became suddenly aware that Grannie's plate was empty. Having replenished it, he ordered Dollops to bring more crumpets, and then turned to his guest.

”I'll tell you what it is, ma'am, that causes this--it's forgetfulness, or rather, what we call absence of mind. It's my solemn belief, ma'am, that if our heads warn't screwed on pretty tight you'd see some hundreds of people walkin' about London of a mornin' with nothin' whatever on their shoulders. Why, there was one man actually posted a cheque for 9 pounds, 15 s.h.i.+llings loose, in a pillar letter-box in Liverpool, without even an envelope on it. The owner was easily traced through the bank, but was unable to explain how the cheque got out of his possession or into the pillar.--Just listen to this, ma'am,” he added, rising and taking down a pamphlet from a bookshelf, ”this is last year's Report.

Hear what it says:--

”`Nearly 28,500 letters were posted this year without addresses. 757 of these letters were found to contain, in the aggregate, about 214 pounds in cash and bank-notes, and about 9088 pounds in bills of exchange, cheques, etcetera.'--Of course,” said the letter-carrier, refres.h.i.+ng himself with a mouthful of tea, ”the money and bills were returned to the senders, but it warn't possible to do the same with 52,856 postage-stamps which were found knocking about loose in the bottom of the mail-bags.”

”How many?” cried Miss Lillycrop, in amazement.

”Fifty-two thousand eight hundred and fifty-six,” repeated Solomon with deliberation. ”No doubt,” he continued, ”some of these stamps had bin carelessly stuck on the envelopes, and some of 'em p'r'aps had come out of busted letters which contained stamps sent in payment of small accounts. You've no idea, ma'am, what a lot o' queer things get mixed up in the mail-bags out of bust letters and packages--all along of people puttin' things into flimsy covers not fit to hold 'em. Last year no fewer than 12,525 miscellaneous articles reached the Returned Letter Office (we used to call it the Dead Letter Office) without covers or addresses, and the number of inquiries dealt with in regard to these things and missing letters by that Office was over 91,000.

”We're very partickler, Miss Lillycrop, in regard to these things,”

continued Solomon, with a touch of pride. ”We keep books in which every stray article, unaddressed, is entered and described minutely, so that when people come howlin' at us for our carelessness in non-delivery, we ask 'em to describe their missing property, and in hundreds of cases prove to them their own carelessness in makin' up parcels by handin' the wrecks over to 'em!”

”But what sort of things are they that break loose?” asked Miss Lillycrop.

”Oh, many sorts. Anything may break loose if it's ill packed, and, as almost every sort of thing pa.s.ses through the post, it would be difficult to describe 'em all. Here is a list, however, that may give you an idea of what kind of things the public sent through our mail-bags last year. A packet of pudding, a steam-gauge, a tin of cream, a bird's wing, a musical box, packet of snowdrops, fruit sweets, shrimps, and sample potatoes; a dormouse, four white mice, two goldfinches, a lizard and a blind-worm, all alive; besides cutlery, medicines, varnish, ointments, perfumery, articles of dress; a stoat, a squirrel, fish, leeches, frogs, beetles, caterpillars, and vegetables. Of course, many of these, such as live animals, being prohibited articles, were stopped and sent to the Returned Letter Office, but were restored, on application, to the senders.”

Observing Miss Lillycrop's surprised expression of face, the old woman's curiosity was roused. ”What's he haverin' aboot, my dear?” she asked of May.

”About the many strange things that are sent through the post, Grannie.”

”Ay, ay, likely enough,” returned the old creature, shaking her head and administering an unintentional cuff to the poor cat; ”folk write a heap o' lees noo-a-days, nae doot.”