A railway line runs into Thrums now. The sensational days of the
post-office were when the letters were conveyed officially in a
creaking old cart from Tilliedrum. The "pony" had seen better days
than the cart, and always looked as if he were just on the point of
succeeding in running away from it. Hooky Crewe was driver--so
called because an iron hook was his substitute for a right arm.
Robbie Proctor, the blacksmith, made the hook and fixed it in. Crewe
suffered from rheumatism, and when he felt it coming on he stayed at
home. Sometimes his cart came undone in a snow-drift; when Hooky,
extricated from the fragments by some chance wayfarer, was deposited
with his mail-bag (of which he always kept a grip by the hook) in a
farmhouse. It was his boast that his letters always reached their
destination eventually. They might be a long time about it, but
"slow _and_ sure" was his motto. Hooky emphasized his "slow
_and_ sure" by taking a snuff. He was a godsend to the postmistress, for
to his failings or the infirmities of his gig were charged all delays.

At the time I write of, the posting of the letter took as long and
was as serious an undertaking as the writing. That means a good
deal, for many of the letters were written to dictation by the
Thrums school-master, Mr. Fleemister, who belonged to the Auld Kirk.
He was one of the few persons in the community who looked upon the
despatch of his letters by the post-mistress as his right, and not a
favor on her part; there was a long-standing feud between them
accordingly. After a few tumblers of Widow Stables' treacle-beer--in
the concoction of which she was the acknowledged mistress for miles
around--the schoolmaster would sometimes go the length of hinting
that he could get the post-mistress dismissed any day. This mighty
power seemed to rest on a knowledge of "steamed" letters. Thrums had