Part 8 (1/2)

BY MARY JOANNA PORTER.

The family mail-bag was made of black and white straw arranged in checks. It was flat and nearly square, was lined with gray linen and fastened at the top with narrow black ribbon. It had two long handles, finely made of straw, and these handles Luella and Francis were accustomed to grasp when, twice a day regularly, at half-past eight in the morning and at half-past three in the afternoon, they went for the family mail.

Their instructions were always to go back and forth to the post-office without stopping, always to tie the bag securely after putting the mail inside, and never to open it after it was thus fastened. They were to take turns in carrying the bag, and upon returning to their home were always to take it at once to the study of their father, Rev. Mr.

Robinson.

So important a personage as a public mail-carrier had never been seen in the small village in which they lived. In his absence the two children performed their service well. At least they always did excepting on one unfortunate day, and that is the day of which our story is to tell.

The children went to the office as usual, and were quite delighted at finding there a registered letter addressed to ”Luella and Francis Robinson.” Luella felt very proud when the postmaster asked her, as the elder, to sign the registered receipt.

”What's that for?” asked Francis.

”It's for proof that you've received the letter. You see that a registered letter usually contains something valuable.”

”I wonder what it can be? It's from Aunt Maria. See, her address is written on the side of the envelope?”

”Yes,” said the postmaster, who was a very good friend of the children.

”It's certainly from your aunt, and it probably contains something for you both, but, you'd better put it in your bag now and tie it up, according to your father's wish.”

The children obediently acted upon this suggestion and started for home.

On their way they talked constantly of their letter, trying vainly to guess what it might contain.

”It's something small, anyway,” said Luella, ”for it doesn't seem to take any room.”

”Maybe 'tisn't anything, after all,” said Francis.

”Oh, yes, it is; for the letter is registered, you know.”

So they went on talking and wondering until they had gone about half the distance toward home. Then they reached a spreading apple tree which grew by a fence near the sidewalk, and beneath which was a large stone, often used as a resting-place for pedestrians.

”Let's sit down a while,” said Francis. ”I feel tired; don't you?”

”Yes, but father wouldn't like us to stop.”

”Oh, yes, he would, if he knew how tired we are. I'm going to rest a moment, anyway. That can't be any harm.”

Luella allowed herself to follow her brother's example. So they took the first step in disobedience.

Next Luella said: ”I wonder if we couldn't just unfasten the bag and look at that letter again. It's our letter, you know.”

”Of course, it is. Give me the bag. I'll open it.”

Then, without more ado, Francis deliberately opened the bag. Thus the second step in wrong-doing was taken.

They examined the letter closely and leisurely, not one minute, but many minutes, pa.s.sing while they were thus engaged. Then Luella said: ”I'm going to read the letter. It's all the same whether we read it here or at home.”

It proved to be a very kind letter from Aunt Maria, who had lately made them a visit. She concluded by saying: ”While I was with you I took pleasure in noticing your constant obedience. As a sort of reward, I enclose for you each a five-dollar gold piece. Please accept the gift with my love.”