I pulled it gently to, so that from the street no one, unless they looked very close, could have seen it was open, and then with Racey's hand in mine, and Tom trotting alongside, we went down the steps and turned the way which Tom said he was sure led to the post-box he had seen.
There were not many people in the street in which our house was. It was a quiet street at all times, and just now was, I suppose, a quiet time of day. The pavements too—fortunately for our house shoes, which we had quite forgotten about—were perfectly dry. We walked along pretty quickly till we came to a corner which Tom felt sure was the corner near which was the letter-box. We turned down the street, and to Tom's delight, a little further on, there, sure enough, was the pillar-post.
"Now, Audrey, you see—wasn't I right?" exclaimed Tom. "Where's the letter?"
It was already in my hand, but, alas! "Oh, Tom, the stamp!" I said. "There must be shops somewhere near where they would give us one."
"Oh yes, sure to be," said Tom, whose success had made him quite valiant, "come along, Audrey. We'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.