Bill Fuller, the postman, whistled cheerfully as he pushed his bicycle up the hill towards old Mrs. Dunley’s house. His work for the day was almost finished. His bag, usually heavy when he set out for a round, was empty this time except the letter that he had to deliver to Mrs. Dunley. She lived a mile away from the village on a hill, so that, when Bill had a letter to deliver to Mrs. Dunley, he always finished his day’s work much later. He never minded this, however, because she never failed to ask him in for a cup of tea.
When Bill entered the gate of Mrs. Dunley’s house, he was surprised by not finding her working in the garden. Garden was the place where she spent her most of the afternoons when the weather was fine. He straight away went to the back of the house, thinking she might be in the kitchen. The door was locked and the curtains were drawn. Confused, Bill went again to the front of the house and knocked hardly on the door. He received no answer. Bill found this very strange because Mrs. Dunley rarely left her house.
Just then he found the bottle of milk which was delivered to her in the morning, was still on the door step. This worried him because if Mrs. Dunley had not taken the bottle of milk in then perhaps she might be in. Bill took around of her house until he found an open window. It was but he managed to squeeze through it. He went into the hall and found Mrs. Dunley lying unconscious on the foot of the stairs. Knowing that he had a very little to do for her; he rushed out, stopped a passing car and asked the driver to call for an ambulance as soon as he reached the