To receive a letter was a rare event in my life, and a rarer followed, setting the cap on my surprise.

For the man, though he was fully ready to drink my health, demanded no money for the letter, saying that it came on the service of His Majesty and was not chargeable.

He spoke low enough, and there was a babble about, but it seemed as though the name of the King made its way through all the hubbub to the Vicar's ears; for he rose instantly, and, stepping to my side, sat down by me, crying, "What said he of the King, Simon ?" "Why, he said," I answered, "that this great letter comes to me on the King's service, and that I have nothing to pay for it," and I turned it over and over in my hands.

But the inscription was plain enough.

"To Master Simon Dale, Esquire, at Hatchstead, by Hatfield." By this time half the company was round us, and my Lord Clarendon well-nigh forgotten.