of our age, we called "the parcel post."

By shoving aside the fire-guard in the absence of our nurses, we
obtained some cinders, with which we repaired to our post at the
window, thus illustrating that natural proclivity of children to
places of danger which is the bane of parents and guardians. Here we
fastened up little fragments of cinder in pieces of writing-paper, and
having secured them tidily with string, we dropped these parcels
through the iron bars as into a post-office. It was a breathless
moment when they fell through space like shooting stars. It was a
triumph if they cleared the area. But the aim and the end of our
labours was to see one of our missives attract the notice of a
passer-by, then excite his curiosity, and finally--if he opened
it--rouse his unspeakable disgust and disappointment.

Like other tricksters, our game lasted long because of the ever-green
credulity of our "public." In the ever-fresh stream of human life
which daily flowed beneath our windows, there were sure to be one or
more pedestrians who, with varying expressions of conscientious
responsibility, unprincipled appropriation, or mere curiosity, would
open our parcels, either to ascertain what trinket should be restored
to its owner, or to keep what was to be got, or to see what there was
to be seen.

One day when we dropped one of our parcels at the feet of a lady who
was going by, she nonplussed us very effectually by ringing the bell
and handing in to the footman "something which had been accidentally
dropped from one of the upper windows." Fortunately for us the parcel
did not reach Aunt Maria; Polly intercepted it.

As the passers-by never wearied of our parcels, I do not know when we
should have got tired of our share of the fun, but for an occurrence
which brought the amusement suddenly to an end. One afternoon we had
made up the neatest of little white-paper parcels, worthy of having
come from a jeweller's, and I clambered on to the window-seat that I
might drop it successfully (and quite clear of the area) into the
street. Just as I dropped it, there passed an elderly gentleman very
precisely dressed, with a gold-headed cane, and a very well-brushed
hat. Pop! I let the cinder parcel fall on to his beaver, from which it
rebounded to his feet. The old gentleman looked quickly up, our eyes
met, and I felt convinced that he saw that I had thrown it. I called
Polly, and as she reached my side the old gentleman untied and