The Letter That Dripped

The letter at the bottom of Noah's bag was dripping.

Noah was the mail carrier on Maple Lane. Every morning he put on his sneakers, packed his bag, and walked his route. He wanted every letter in the right mailbox before the church bell rang ten.

Drip, drip, hurry up, he thought.

This letter was wet, and the ink was running. The name on the front had gone blurry, like a drawing left out in the rain. Noah held it up in the sun. He saw only a smudge and a long blue streak.

"Mrs. Pim, is this yours?" he called.

Mrs. Pim peered over her fence. "I'm sorry, dear. That could be for anyone."

Noah tried the next house. He tried the one after that. A duck was splashing in a puddle by the road, and it only said, "Quack." It had come for a bath, not a letter.

Drip, drip, hurry up. The streak was getting fainter.

Noah sat on the curb under the big hedge. It was shady and dim there, and he could not read a thing. Beside him stood the old street lamp. On Maple Lane, lamps glowed brighter whenever someone laughed nearby. Nobody thought that was strange. It was just how lamps were.

Noah looked at the lamp. Then he looked at the letter.

He made himself laugh. "Ha! Ha-ha! Hee!"

The lamp glowed a little. The duck flapped its wings and went plink into the puddle, and Noah laughed for real. The lamp shone as yellow as butter.

In that bright light, Noah saw faint letters under the smudge. Pip. Blue Gate.

He ran all the way to the blue gate at the end of the lane. A small boy named Pip was waiting on the step.

"Is that for me?" Pip asked.

Noah dropped the letter into his hands. Down the lane, the church bell began to ring.