tice you had been thrown out. I can fancy what it is like driving in autumn!"
The postman did not speak.
"Have you been going with the post for long?" the student asked.
"Eleven years."
"Oho; every day?"
"Yes, every day. I take this post and drive back again at once. Why?"
Making the journey every day, he must have had a good many interesting adventures in eleven years. On bright summer and gloomy autumn nights, or in winter when a ferocious snowstorm whirled howling round the mail cart, it must have been hard to avoid feeling frightened and uncanny. No doubt more than once the horses had bolted, the mail cart had stuck in the mud, they had been attacked by highwaymen, or had lost their way in the blizzard. . . .
"I can fancy what adventures you must have had in eleven years!" said the student. "I expect it must be terrible driving?"
He said this and expected that the postman would tell him something, but the latter preserved a sullen silence and retreated into his collar. Meanwhile it began to get light. The sky changed colour imperceptibly; it still seemed dark, but by now the horses and the driver and the road could be seen. The crescent moon looked bigger and bigger, and the cloud that stretched below it, shaped like a cannon in a gun-carriage, showed a faint yellow on its lower
