'Don't laugh at him,' said his mother. 'He is very careful and exact, and being careful and exact doesn't need to make anyone selfish or miserly. Leo has always money ready for birthdays and Christmas presents.'
Leo looked pleased, but he did not say anything; he was always rather a silent little boy. But later that same evening, when he knew that his mother would be alone, he came up to her quietly.
'Mamma,' he said, 'I want to ask you something. Would you mind letting me have a little money out of my packet?'
'What for, dear?' she asked.
Leo grew rather red.
'It was what you were saying about running out of stamps that put it in my head,' he said. 'And what Cynthia said too about my being like a merchant—I would like to be a merchant, mamma, if that means selling things. I'd awfully like to have a shop, but of course I can't—at least not a proper shop. But oh, mamma, I've been thinking if I might have a post-office,' and Leo's eyes gleamed with eagerness.
'A post-office, my dear boy!' said his mother, 'how could you have a post-office?'
'Oh, of course I don't mean a regular post-office. I couldn't have telegraphs, nor get people to post their letters in our letter-box. You wouldn't like it, would you, mamma?' he said gravely. 'But I just mean a post-office for selling stamps, and postcards, and perhaps newspaper wrappers. And wouldn't it be nice for you, mamma, always to be able to get stamps in a minute, however late it
was—you'd never have to say you'd run out of them, then?'