"Master Ted, very wet indeed, made his appearance with rosy cheeks
and a general look of self-satisfaction."
Click to [ENLARGE]

And an hour or two later, dried and consoled and sitting round the kitchen table for an extra good tea to which Mrs. Crosby had invited them, all the children agreed that after all the expedition had not turned out badly.

But the weather had changed there was no doubt; for the time at least the sunny days were over. The party in the farm-house had grown smaller too, for the uncles had had to leave, and even the children's father had been summoned away unexpectedly to London. And a day or two after the children's picnic their mother stood at the window rather anxiously looking out at the ever-falling rain.

"It really looks like as if it would never leave off," she said, and there was some reason for her feeling distressed. She had hoped for a letter from the children's father that day, and very probably it was lying at the two-miles-and-a-half-off post-office, waiting for some one to fetch it. For it was not one of the postman's days for coming round by the farm-house; that only happened twice a week, but hitherto this had been of little consequence to the farm-house visitors. Their letters perhaps had not been of such importance as to be watched for with much anxiety, and in the fine weather it was quite a pleasant little walk to the post-office by the fields and the stepping-stones across the river. But all this rain had so swollen the river that now the stepping-stones were useless; there was nothing for it but to take the long round by the road; and this added to the difficulty in another way, for it was not by any means every day that Mr. Crosby or his son were going in that direction, or that they could, at this busy season, spare a man so long off work. So the children's mother could not see how she was to get her letter if this rain continued—at least not for several days, for the old postman had called yesterday—he would not take the round of the Skensdale farm for another three or four days at least, and even then, the post-office people were now so accustomed to some of the "gentry" calling for their letters themselves, that it was doubtful, not certain at least, if they would think of giving them to the regular carrier. And with some anxiety, for her husband had gone to London on business of importance, Ted's mother went to bed.

Early next morning she was awakened by a tap at the door, a gentle little tap. She almost fancied she had heard it before in her sleep without being really aroused.

"Come in," she said, and a very business-like figure, which at the first glance she hardly recognised, made its appearance. It was Ted; dressed in waterproof from head to foot, cloak, leggings, and all, he really looked ready to defy the weather—a sort of miniature diver, for he had an oilskin cap on his head too, out of which gleamed his bright blue eyes, full of eagerness and excitement.

"Mother," he said, "I hope I haven't wakened you too soon. I got up early on purpose to see about your letters. It's still raining as hard as ever, and even if it left off, there'd be no crossing the stepping-stones for two or three days, Farmer Crosby says. And he can't spare any one to-day to go to the post. I'm the only one that can, so I've got ready, and don't you think I'd better go at once?"

Ted's mother looked out of the window. Oh, how it was pouring! She thought of the long walk—the two miles and a half through the dripping grass of the meadows, along the muddy, dreary road, and all the way back again; and then the possibility of the swollen river having escaped its bounds where the road lay low, came into her mind and frightened her. For Ted was a little fellow still—only eleven and a half, and slight and delicate for his age. And then she looked at him and saw the eager readiness in his eyes, and remembered that he was quick-witted and careful, and she reflected also that he must learn, sooner or later, to face risks and difficulties for himself.

"Ted, my boy," she said, "it's very nice of you to have thought of it, and I know it would be a great disappointment if I didn't let you go. But you'll promise me to be very careful—to do nothing rash or unwise; if the river is over the road, for instance, or there is the least danger, you'll turn back?"

"Yes, mother, I'll be very careful, really," said Ted. "I'll do nothing silly. Good-bye, mother; thank you so much for letting me go. I've got my stick, but there's no use taking an umbrella."