Tom stared about him.
"It must be a little further on," he said.
But further on it was not to be seen, and we began to feel perfectly puzzled. The street was quite a short one—we soon came to the end, where, right and left, it ran into a wider one, quiet and rather dark too—that is to say, compared with the great street of shops where we had just been. We stood at the corner looking about us—
"This is our street—it must be," I said; "but what can have become of the letter-box in the little street?"
Tom could say nothing, he was as puzzled as I. We walked on slowly, more because we did not know what else to do, than for any other reason. Going home without posting the letter, for which we had run such risks, was not to be thought of. Suddenly Tom gave a little scream, and would have darted across the street had I not kept tight hold of him.
"Tom, what is the matter? Where are you going?" I said.
Tom wriggled and pulled.
"Let me go, Audrey," he said. "There's one—don't you see—across the street. Let me go, to be sure it's a proper one like the other."
"One" meant another pillar-post. I wouldn't let go of Tom, but we all went across together to examine it. It was just like the one that had suddenly disappeared from the little street, and it took a great weight off me when I had dropped my letter into it.
"It is just as if they had wheeled it across from the street opposite—isn't it?" I said to Tom.