“She did,” answered the youngster coolly, “and she thought she'd send yer a bit of it this afternoon, just to take the edge off yer appetite before she posted boxes to her friends.” Rightly or wrongly the rural post office is supposed to know all the secrets and scandals of the neighbourhood. When private information leaks out, it is usually the post office which is suspected. And especially is this the case when there are women at the post office. Sometimes the interest in the affairs of the village is quite open. A woman enters a rural post office. “Anything for me?” she asks. _Rural Postmaster._ I don't see nothen'. _Woman._ I was expectin' a letter or postcard from Aunt Spriggs tellin' when she was comin'. _Rural Postmaster_ (_calling to his wife_). Did you see a postcard from Mrs. Hayfork's aunt, Sally? _His Wife._ Yes; she's comin' on Thursday. In the _Christian World_ of the 20th September 1901 there appeared an excellent description of the village post office in an article entitled “The Scottish Coast Village.” “The real centre of the world for us is the village post office. It does everything except the one thing which is supposed to be the duty of a post office—distribute the letters. That is done from a neighbouring village by a five-mile-an-hour-easy postman, who when he has delivered our letters and returned to his own office a mile and a half away has still a thirteen-mile tramp amongst the scattered farms. Summer and winter, through snow and mud, in burning heat or freezing cold, he fulfils his daily task, and has never missed a mail nor caught a cold. “But if our post office does not distribute the letters it would be difficult to name anything else which it will not do. There the chance tourist leaves his bicycle and waterproof while he looks round the village and has a dip in the sea; thither turns the inquirer after lost property or the fine weather which will not come; groceries, draperies, stationery, tobacco, all are found among its exhaustible stores; anything will be provided within reasonable time, and 'prescriptions are carefully made up' at forty-eight hours' notice from the country town twelve miles away. The postmaster and shop-keeper is one of those willing, handy men, often found in such positions, who are the acting representatives of Providence to the helpless visitor. He will take any amount of trouble for you; never loses his temper amid the thousand-and-one inquiries which assail him all the day long; and gives up part of his Sabbath rest—well earned—to leading the singing of the village choir. This he does with an accompaniment of the foot which ensures excellent time, though in itself a little disconcerting.”