Hetty took the letter and set off. She was quite close to the post office, when unfortunately she espied a Punch and Judy show a little way off, and it at once struck her that with two of Flo's dolls and that squeaky voice she could amuse the child wonderfully. To acquire the squeak, she stopped to listen, and thought no more of letter or post till the show was over. Then she went on to the office—to find the post box shut.
"Oh dear, dear what am I to do? and I'm sure I didn't stay five minutes!"
"Five minutes!" echoed a woman who knew her. "Say twenty, Heedless Hetty. Knock at the shutter there; maybe they'll take it."
Hetty groaned and timidly knocked at the cruel little green shutter which covered the box, as well as a tiny window above it. After two or three knocks it flew open, and a boy looked out—Fred Smith, a great friend of Dan Hardy.
"Oh, Fred! do take in this letter! My master said it was of consequence, and must go to-night, and I stopped to look at a Punch and Judy—do take it."
"But the bag's gone!" cried Fred. "It's too late from this office to-night. Never mind, Hetty, give it here, and I'll slip it into the bag to-morrow morning, and then no one need know about Punch."
"But it would be deceit," said Hetty, drawing back, "and master might get blamed. I must tell him. Good-bye, Fred; you mean it kindly, but I couldn't do it—nor you wouldn't do it yourself; either."
"I'm afraid I would," Fred answered, with a half laugh.
"Oh, no! Sure it is just the same thing as a lie."
With these words Hetty turned and ran off. She passed her mother's door without slackening her pace, and was soon at Adelaide Terrace. She would have been a good deal surprised had she heard what Fred Smith said as he watched her flying round the corner,—