A bread cart from Kildrummie lumbered along the road. Maclure passed on Jess at a sharp trot. A company of tourists returning from Glen Urtach sang “Will ye no come back again?” Donald Menzies also sang as he brought a horse from the smiddy, but it was a psalm-- “I to the hills will lift my eyes, From whence doth come mine aid.” “Can ye no see him yet, Dauvid? a' doot he 's hed an accident; it maun be lang past the 'oor noo. Yonder he is.” But it was only a tramp, who hesitated at the foot of the upland road, and then continued his way to the village, careless who lived or died, so that he had meat and drink. Round the distant corner Posty came at last, half an hour before his time and half a mile the hour above his common speed. “Wull ye gang doon, Meg?” “A' canna; bring't up tae me when he's past,” and she sat down again and covered her face; “tell me gin it 's come.” Posty halted and swung round his bag; he took out the packet of road-side letters and dropped four into the box without attention; then he kept a fifth in his hands and hesitated; he held it up against the light as if he would have read its contents. “He's got it, an', Meg, wumman, a' dinna see... ony black on 't.” Posty looked at his watch, and said aloud: “A 'll risk the time; it 'ill no tak mair than an 'oor,” and he leaped the dyke. “Lord's sake, Bogleigh, is that you? A' wes thinkin' o' whuppin' round yir wy the day for a change; in fac,” and Posty's effort at in difference collapsed, “word's come frae Australy.” “Wull ye... open't for's? ma hand's... no verra steady, an' the gude wife... hesna her glesses.” “Mr. David Ross, “Farmer, “Bogleigh, “Drumtochty, “Scotland.” read Posty, with official importance; “that's a' richt, at ony rate.” “He aye sent it tae his mither himsel; juist read the beginning Posty... that 'ill be eneuch.” And David fixed his eyes on the letter, while Meg dared not breathe. “It affords me unspeakable satisfaction,” began Posty, in a low voice, and then he suddenly lifted it up in victory, “to send good news. The very day I wrote the worst symptoms disappeared, and your son is now on the way to recovery.” “There 's fower pages, an' a' can read, 'no cause now for alarm, but ye canna better the affset. A' kent what it wud be; the doctor said gude news in his prayer, and that's the verra word. “Here, Mistress Ross, is the letter, for Bog-leigh's no fit tae tak chairge o 't.... Me? A 've dune naethin' but cairry it. “A 'll no deny, though, a' wud hae liket fine tae hev seen the inside o't doon bye; sall, as sune as a' passed the boondary o' the pairish the fouk set on me, but a' cud say naethin' mair than this, 'There's an Australy letter, and it's no black-edged.'