On Saturday evening, Saunders Dickie, the Irvine postman, suspecting that
this letter was from the Doctor, went with it himself, on his own feet,
to Mr. Micklewham, although the distance is more than two miles, but
Saunders, in addition to the customary twal pennies on the postage, had
a dram for his pains. The next morning being wet, Mr. Micklewham had not
an opportunity of telling any of the parishioners in the churchyard of
the Doctor's safe arrival, so that when he read out the request to return
thanks (for he was not only school-master and session-clerk, but also
precentor), there was a murmur of pleasure diffused throughout the
congregation, and the greatest curiosity was excited to know what the
dangers were, from which their worthy pastor and his whole family had so
thankfully escaped in their voyage to London; so that, when the service
was over, the elders adjourned to the session-house to hear the letter
read; and many of the heads of families, and other respectable
parishioners, were admitted to the honours of the sitting, who all
sympathised, with the greatest sincerity, in the sufferings which their
minister and his family had endured. Mr. Daff, however, was justly
chided by Mr. Craig, for rubbing his hands, and giving a sort of
sniggering laugh, at the Doctor's sitting on high with a light woman.
But even Mr. Snodgrass was seen to smile at the incident of taking the
number off the coach, the meaning of which none but himself seemed to
understand.
When the epistle had been thus duly read, Mr. Micklewham promised, for
the satisfaction of some of the congregation, that he would get two or
three copies made by the best writers in his school, to be handed about
the parish, and Mr. Icenor remarked, that truly it was a thing to be held
in remembrance, for he had not heard of greater tribulation by the waters
since the shipwreck of the Apostle Paul.