as
busy with the dinner, Sarah said, so there'd be a nice quiet time if
only nobody would come ringing at the door.

As soon as Sarah had left us, I pulled Tom close to me and whispered in
his ear.

"Tom," I said, "this is just the time for posting the letter."

Tom jumped up on to his feet.

"Of course," he said. "Give it me, Audrey. I can find my way to the
post-box _pairfitly_" ("pairfitly" for "perfectly" was another of Tom's
funny words, like "lubbish"). "I'll just fetch my cap, and tie my
comforter round my throat, and I'll be back in a moment."

He spoke in a very big-man way, as if all his life he had been
accustomed to run about London streets in the dark--for by this time it
really was dark--and I could not help admiring his courage and feeling
rather proud of him. Still I was startled, for I had never thought of
Tom's going all by himself.

"But you can't go _alone_, Tom," I said, "you're far too little. _I_
meant to go, if you would tell me quite exactly where you saw the
letter-box, and if you would promise me to stay here quite quiet with
Racey till I come back."

"Oh no, Audrey," said Tom, in a tone of great distress, "that would
never do. I couldn't tell you ezacktly where the letter-box is, though
I'm sure I could find it myself. And you're a girl, Audrey, and not so
_vrezy_ much bigger than me. And besides, I'm a boy. And oh, Audrey, I
do _so_ want to go!"

The last reason was the strongest I dare say, and it was honest of Tom
to tell it. I stood uncertain what to do. In his eagerness Tom had
spoken out quite loud, and Racey had stopped looking at the pictures to
listen. He sat on the floor--his little bare legs stretched out, his
mouth wide open, staring up at Tom and me. Then another thought came
into my mind.

"Tom," I said, "there's the stamp to get. You'd have to go into a shop
and ask for one."

Tom's countenance fell. This difficulty had more weight with him than if
I had gone on saying he was too little, though even without the getting
of the stamp I _could_ not have let him go alone. "He might be run over
or stolen or something dreadful," I thought, "and it would be my fault.
Oh no, he _mustn't_ go alone." But I felt as if he would be quite safe
if I went with him, though I dare say this must seem rather absurd, for
I was really not very much older or bigger than Tom, and of course I
knew no more about London.

"I wouldn't like that," he said. Then his face brightened up again.