Postie jerked his thumb across his shoulder at the House with the Green Shutters.
He could say it with impunity; for the pluck of Postie Jim was a matter long past dispute.
Now that Gourlay was gone, however, Postie clattered through the yard every morning, right up to the back door.
Postie crossed to the fireplace and looked down at the fender.
And so I sit smoking my pipe by the mess-room fire; Postie descends, beaming expectantly.
