The Stamp That Gave the Parcel Legs
Once, at one end of a long green valley, there was a village of yellow cottages, and in one of them was a post office the size of a cupboard. It was the size of a cupboard because it was a cupboard. It stood in Grandma’s front room, between the coat pegs and the clock.
Hattie lived next door and helped. She could weigh a letter just by holding it. Wherever she went, she took a bag of sandwiches, far more than one girl could eat, just in case. In case of what, nobody knew. Hattie had packed for it for years, and it had never come. She packed for it anyway.
On the morning of Alfie’s birthday, Grandma had a cake on the counter. She had been up since five baking it. Alfie was Hattie’s little cousin, and he was turning six that day on the far side of the valley. His birthday tea was at four o’clock. The cake was three layers high, with six cherries on top in a ring. It was in a brown-paper box tied with string, and the label said: For Alfie, the House with the Blue Door, Far End.
The post cart was meant to take it. But the post cart had lost a wheel in a ditch, and the wheel would not be back on until Monday.
Grandma looked at the cake. Hattie looked at the cake.
“Alfie will have been watching the gate since breakfast,” said Grandma.
Hattie went to the stamp drawer anyway, because a parcel ought to have a stamp, whatever happens next. The drawer was empty except for one stamp at the very back. It was green, with a little boot printed on it.
“I don’t remember that one,” said Grandma.
Hattie licked it and pressed it onto the corner of the box.
The parcel gave a small rustle, like somebody getting comfortable. Then two little legs came out from underneath. They were short and neat, with flat feet, and exactly the colour of brown paper. The parcel untied its own string and tied it again round its middle, like a belt. Then it climbed down off the counter, walked out of the front door, and set off down the lane towards the address on its label.
“Oh,” said Hattie, the way other people say “Right, then.” She took her bag of sandwiches off its peg.
“Somebody had better go with it,” said Grandma. “Four o’clock, and in one piece.”
That was all Hattie wanted, and she wanted it very much: the cake at Alfie’s, in one piece, by four.
Now, you might think a parcel with legs would be in a hurry. This one was not. It had very short legs and very good manners, and it used both.
At the end of the lane there was a postbox. The parcel stopped in front of it, and bowed, and went on.
Hattie tried to carry it, to save time. The little legs went on walking in the air, very politely, until she put it down. Then the parcel straightened its belt and carried on by itself.
The first stile was two stones and a plank. The parcel walked up to it and waited. Hattie lifted it over, and it bowed to her and went on. The second stile was so high that Hattie climbed it with the parcel over her head. The third stile had a wobbly step, and the parcel waited there a long time, as if to make sure Hattie had noticed. She had. She lifted it over and minded the step.
After the third stile there was a large brown cow, fast asleep across the whole width of the lane, snoring. The parcel walked right up to the cow and waited, the way it had waited at the stiles.
Hattie did not wake the cow. Anybody asleep in the sun on a Saturday should be let alone. She steered the parcel through the field instead. All the way along, it kept trying to turn back towards the lane, like a compass needle, and Hattie kept turning it round again. They came out by the far gate, and the cow slept on.
The parcel bowed to Hattie. Hattie, without quite meaning to, bowed back.
At the river, Old Tobin was sitting on his ferry with his hat on and his goat beside him.
Everybody in the valley knew Old Tobin’s rule. He would carry anyone across, as long as they said good morning to his goat. It was well past noon, but Hattie said good morning to Pudding the goat all the same, and Pudding looked pleased.
The parcel walked to the edge of the landing and stopped.
“People go free,” said Old Tobin. “Parcels need a ticket.”
The parcel did not step on. It was post, after all, and post knows about tickets.
“How much is a ticket?” said Hattie.
“By weight,” said Old Tobin.
Hattie weighed the parcel in her hands. “Two pounds and six cherries,” she said.
Old Tobin looked at her bag.
Hattie took out a sandwich. “Egg,” she said.
“Egg will do,” said Old Tobin. He took off his hat. Inside, stacked neatly in their papers, were seven sandwiches already. He put the egg one on top, put his hat back on, and tore a ticket from a little book. Hattie tucked it under the parcel’s belt.
Then the parcel stepped aboard. It walked to the front, where Pudding stood, and bowed. Pudding looked at it for a long time, the way goats do, and then bowed back, horns and all.
Halfway across, Hattie thought about all those years of spare sandwiches. So this was the just-in-case.
On the far landing there was a postbox. The parcel stopped, and bowed, and went on.
The fair on the far bank was the loudest place in the valley.
The parcel went straight past the coconut shy. It went straight past the toffee apples. It went straight past the man on stilts, who bowed to it. Then it saw a queue, and it joined it at once.
As far as the parcel knew, every queue had a post office at the end of it. At the end of this one there was a merry-go-round.
“That isn’t the post office,” said Hattie.
The parcel shuffled forward one step, with everybody else.
The clock on the bandstand said twenty-five past three, and there was still a mile to go. Hattie could have lifted the parcel out of the queue. But it had waited at three stiles and a cow, and it had paid its fare.
“One ride,” said Hattie. “Then we run.”
She gave the merry-go-round man a cheese sandwich, and he said that would do nicely. She lifted the parcel onto a painted horse with a gold mane and stood beside it, holding its belt. Round they went, and round, and round. On every turn the parcel leaned out a little to the left, the way everybody does on a merry-go-round. It sat very upright and looked as pleased as a box can look.
When the music stopped, it was twenty to four.
Then they ran. The parcel’s little legs went so fast you could hardly see them, and Hattie ran beside it with her bag bumping on her back. At the fair gate there was a postbox. The parcel stopped, and bowed, and Hattie stopped and bowed too, without thinking. Then they both went on.
The parcel walked up the path to the House with the Blue Door at five to four. It knocked on the door with one corner, three times. Then it sat down on the mat and tucked its legs underneath.
Auntie opened the door, and Alfie was right behind her. He had been watching the gate since breakfast.
“Post,” said Hattie, quite out of breath.
The parcel bowed to Alfie. Alfie bowed back so hard he nearly fell over.
They opened the box on the kitchen table. The cake had leaned a little to the left, on account of the merry-go-round. But all three layers were standing, and all six cherries were on top, and it was perfect.
Alfie had the best birthday of his life. He told everybody at tea that his cake had walked across the valley by itself and ridden on a merry-go-round, which was quite true. Auntie cut Hattie the biggest slice. “Anybody who walks a cake across a valley gets the piece with two cherries,” she said. And while everybody was singing, the empty box folded itself flat, lay down by the stove, and went to sleep.
That evening Hattie rode home on the back of the milk cart, among the empty churns. She ate her last sandwich, which was jam. She had never been so tired or so pleased. Every time they passed a postbox, she bowed to it.
Grandma was waiting at the gate. “Well?” she said.
“Five to four,” said Hattie. “All six cherries. It leans a bit.”
“Leaning is allowed on a birthday,” said Grandma, and she hugged Hattie right off the step.
On Monday morning, when the post cart had its wheel back, Hattie opened the post office and bowed to the cupboard first. Then she packed her bag with far too many sandwiches, as usual. You never can tell when a parcel will need a ticket.