'll turn this next corner--I hear a hum
of carriages and carts going along. There's sure to be a big street
there."

So there was, what seemed to us a very big street indeed--brilliantly
lighted, with quantities of horses and cabs and carriages and carts of
all kinds in the middle, and numbers of people on the pavement. Tom fell
back a little and took hold of my other hand, Racey squeezed the one he
held more tightly.

"We'll just go a very little way," said Tom. "Audrey, what sort of shops
is it that they sell stamps in?"

"I don't know," I said. "We'd better ask somewhere, for if we go much
further we'll lose our way."

The shop, just opposite which we were then passing, was a chemist's. I
pulled the boys forward, though Tom was rather unwilling, and wanted to
stay outside; but I was too terribly afraid of losing them to let go of
either of their hands for a moment. And so we all three went in. There
were several grave, rather dignified-looking gentlemen standing behind
the counters--one seated at a little desk writing, one or two others
putting up bottles and jars on the shelves. As we came in, one stepped
forward.

"What do you want, little--" "little girl," no doubt he was going to
say, for seeing three such young children coming in alone, of course he
thought at first that we must be what Racey called "poor children." But
when he looked at us again he hesitated. I was too anxious to get what I
wanted to feel shy.

"If you please," I said, "is there a shop near here where they sell
stamps?"

The grave young gentleman smiled.

"Postage stamps, do you mean?" he said.

"Yes," I replied, "I only want one. I have a penny."

"They are to be got at the post-office in ---- Street--a very little
way from this, on the right-hand side," said the young man. He turned
away as he spoke as much as to say "That is all I can do for you. Now
you had better go away."

I stood for a moment uncertain what to do--the boys looked up at me in
perplexity and trouble. It was terrible to think of having to go still
further along that crowded street, and having to ask again for the
post-office. I was neither shy nor frightened for myself, but I felt the
responsibility of the boys painfully. Supposing some harm happened to
them, supposing they got run over or lost--supposing even that it was so
late when we got home that we had been missed and that Uncle Geoff and
Mrs. Partridge were to scold us fearfully--I should feel, I knew