The Green Casket, and other stories

'I wish we had a post-office in the house,' said Cynthia, the next sister. 'I did so want a postcard to send to Fletcher's to order my new piece of music, and when I was out I forgot to get any, though mamma said I might buy a whole packet. It's cheaper – for you get twelve for eightpence, and if you buy one at a time it's a penny each.'

'Or two for three-halfpence,' said Leo. 'That would make ninepence for twelve, not eightpence.'

'That's just like Leo,' said Cynthia; 'he's always counting about money and things like that. You're a regular little merchant, Leo.'

'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?'

Mamma smiled.

'Yes, that would be very nice, certainly,' she said. 'But it wouldn't be much good to you, Leo, if you gave your trouble and lent your money for nothing? You should make some profit, even if it were only a halfpenny on a dozen stamps.'

'Or a penny on twelve postcards,' said Leo consideringly. 'I might buy a whole packet and sell them in ones or twos. That would be very nice. But even without that, I would so like to have a post-office, mamma. It would really be a help to you.'

So it was settled. Mamma gave Leo five shillings out of his 'packet,' which was a private savings-bank she kept for him, and Leo, as happy as a king, set off to the chemist's shop round the corner, which was the nearest post-office in the neighbourhood, and laid out the whole five shillings in penny stamps, halfpenny stamps, a packet of postcards, another of newspaper wrappers, a few twopence-halfpenny stamps, and two or three foreign postcards, just in case mamma were writing to France, or Germany, as she sometimes did. The chemist did look rather astonished at such extensive purchases, but he was very civil and obliging; and as he was a nice man, Leo felt glad he had gone to him instead of to the big post-office a quarter of a mile off.

'For he must gain something on as much as five shillings,' thought Leo.

Then he came home and began to make his arrangements. He had to consult his sisters about them, but they were very kind and very much interested, and were quite pleased that the post-office should be in the schoolroom, which of course was as much their room as Leo's.

There was a little old-fashioned cupboard or bookcase in the schoolroom, in which, above the enclosed part which had glass doors, were two little drawers not used for anything in particular. On these drawers Leo had set his heart. 'They would be just the thing,' he thought. And luckily Marion and Cynthia thought the same. So the drawers were cleared of such contents as they had, and Leo set to work.

In one drawer he arranged all his wares, as neatly as possible – using the lids of some old cardboard boxes as divisions. There were the penny stamps in one, the halfpenny ones in another, the wrappers and post-cards behind. And as of course Leo could not stand all day long at the post-office to wait for people coming to buy, he made the second drawer into his 'till.' In this he made divisions too, one for the money paid for stamps, another for that for postcards, and so on. Each division was marked accordingly, so that every morning or evening he could count up his sales, and see that all was right. Besides all this, he wrote out in his neatest, roundest writing a set of rules for 'Hertford Square Post-office,' as he called it, and to the card on which these rules were written he fastened a pencil by a long string, as he had seen done in real post-offices for telegrams, and a number of tiny little papers on which everybody who bought stamps was to mark down the number they had had, and to drop the little paper into the drawer.

And then with great triumph he summoned mamma and his sisters, and Miss Nesbitt, and nurse, and the butler, and in short everybody he could get hold of, to come and admire.

'It is really very neat and nice,' said mamma; and by way of 'handsel' or 'good-luck' to the new post-office, she immediately bought six stamps, for which she gave a whole penny extra, though Leo explained that of course he did not expect that usually.

'I hope your rules will be kept,' said Marion who had been reading them over. 'The principal one is about paying at once. Well, of course, that's a very good rule. It is so easy to forget to pay for such little things, if one doesn't do it at once. And then about the time of closing every evening.'

'At eight o'clock – when I go to bed,' Leo said. 'I shall come round then for the last time and shut up.'

'But,' said Cynthia, 'supposing mamma wanted a stamp quite late at night. It might happen, you know, and that was to be the good of having a post-office in the house. And if you had locked them all up' —

'I can't lock them up,' said Leo; 'there's no key.'

'Well then,' said Marion, 'I think you should make a rule that if mamma wants anything after eight, she should be allowed to have it, or if any one else does, they might too, if they got her to sign one of the papers. Of course it wouldn't often happen, but just in case.'

'Very well,' Leo agreed; 'I'll add on that new rule,' and so he did.

All went well for some time. The stock, of stamps especially, was sold out several times in the course of the first week or two, and everybody paid regularly. Once or twice, it must be owned, Cynthia forgot to pay, and more than once or twice people forgot to mark down what they had taken. But Cynthia was always ready with her pennies as soon as Leo asked her, and except for this the money was all right. More than all right indeed, for one day a friend of his mother's made such big purchases that he was quite cleared out, and had to set off to the chemist's at once, and thanks to this and to other smaller profits, by the end of the first week he had gained threepence, and by the end of the second, twopence-halfpenny more.

So Leo began to think his post-office a great success.

But one morning he had a start.

He had left all quite correct the evening before; the money was right, and he knew exactly how many stamps he had left, when he had made his last round, as he called it, at bedtime; but this morning, though the money was the same, the stamps were not; three penny ones were gone.

Leo counted them all over and over again, 'to be quite sure,' even though in his heart he had been quite sure from the first. Then he ran up-stairs to ask his mother if possibly she had taken them after he was in bed, and forgotten to mark them down. No, mamma had not had any. Leo began to look quite distressed.

'Don't worry about it,' said his mother. 'It's the first time anything has gone wrong. I will pay the threepence, dear. It has just been some mistake.'

Leo thanked her and ran off, determining to count more carefully than ever. And for two or three days all was right. Then again, one morning, it happened again that stamps were missing. Two penny and one halfpenny this time!

'Dear, dear,' thought Leo, 'I don't like this at all,' and again mamma was consulted. 'If this goes on,' he said, 'I must give it up.'

But mamma advised him to wait a little; perhaps some one would remember having taken them.

So Leo waited, though far from easy in his mind. Only one thing consoled him.

'If it was a robber,' he thought, 'they'd have been more likely to take the pennies than the stamps.'

For some days poor Leo was in great trouble about the strange disappearance of his stamps. He asked everybody, but nobody had had any they had not paid for. And he was sure nobody in the house would say what was not true. He began to think of robbers and burglars, only, as Benjamin the footman reminded him, 'It wasn't common-sense to suppose burglars'd steal postage-stamps and nought else; not that there was much chance of silver plate about. Mr. Trev, the butler, and he – Benjamin himself – was a deal too sharp.'

Benjamin seemed a little cross about the stamps, and so did Trev, Leo thought. And mamma advised him to say no more about it. If it happened again – well, she began to be afraid he would have to give up his post-office, and for some evenings, to make quite sure, she counted them over herself with him at bedtime, and as they each time proved right the next morning, she almost thought Leo must have miscounted.

But alas! Two mornings after that, and again stamps were missing, two this time, and, by way of variety this time, a newspaper wrapper!

'It really is very queer,' said Leo's mother when he flew to tell her of the new troubles. 'I really do feel as if I would like to find out who takes them. I've a great mind to sit up late one evening and watch.'

'Oh no, mamma, please don't,' said poor Leo, looking quite frightened; 'at least if you do, you must let me sit up too. Just think if it was real robbers,' for he could not quite get the idea out of his head that burglars after all might have to do with it.

Mamma laughed, but still she promised him that she would choose a night when his father was at home.

'I don't think I should care to sit up late all alone,' she said, 'even though I don't think it likely that burglars are stealing your stamps, Leo.'

Now I must explain that Leo's father was a very busy man. Some evenings he did not get home till long after not only Leo, but his big sisters and even his mother, were in bed, and sometimes he had to go off so early in the morning that for several days together, now and then, they scarcely saw him. This was a great trouble to them all, for they were very fond indeed of their father, and he was very fond of them. But it could not be helped for the present, though Leo was already looking forward to the time when he should 'be a man,' and able to help papa.

Lately, since Leo had started his post-office, his father had been even extra busy, and if he had heard about the matter at all, he had not paid much attention, or else he had quite forgotten it. The schoolroom in these children's house was at the end of the hall, and between it and the dining-room was a tiny little book-room or study, where their father kept all his own papers, and where he used to write when he was at home. Sometimes when he came home very late and let himself in with his latchkey, he would go straight to this little room, where a good fire was kept up, and there he would write answers to any letters he found waiting for him, and leave them on the hall-table all ready to be posted the very first thing in the morning by whichever of the servants was the earliest about; but I don't think any of the children or their mother knew of this custom of his, as it had never happened to come in their way.

The very evening of the day on which Leo and his mother had been talking so seriously about the missing stamps, papa, for a wonder, came home quite early. It was really a great treat to them all. He had dinner quite comfortably with mamma, and after dinner, when Marion and Cynthia and Leo were all in the drawing-room as usual, they kept saying to each other how nice it was to have papa with them.

'If only you could come home every day as early as this,' said Cynthia to him.

'But perhaps if I could, you wouldn't think so much of me,' said her father laughing.

'And I'm afraid mamma wouldn't let me sit up till nine every night,' said Leo, who had got an hour's grace this evening. 'Mamma,' he went on, coming close to her and whispering, 'do you think you'll sit up to-night and watch? I wouldn't mind you doing it with papa, you know.'

'I'll see about it,' said his mother, smiling, while his father looked up and asked what they were whispering about – it was a shame to have secrets from him when he was so seldom at home!

And as he spoke, he got up slowly from his comfortable chair by the fire.

'I'm afraid I must go down-stairs to the study,' he said. 'I have some letters to write, though I do feel very lazy about it.'

But immediately a cry was set up.

'O papa, do wait till we've gone to bed,' said the three voices. 'We shall be going in half an hour.'

So of course papa gave in.

Mamma had an interesting book to read after the children had gone to bed, and their father had left her to write his letters. She read on for some time, and then she began to feel chilly, and looking up she saw that the fire was getting low.

'I'll go down to the study,' she thought. 'There's sure to be a good fire there.'

As she went down-stairs it struck her that she would take a look into the schoolroom, and just notice if the 'post-office' drawers were shut, and all looking as usual.

'I might even,' she said to herself, 'count the stamps and compare my counting with Leo's to-morrow.'

But it was dark in the schoolroom. The fire, however, was not quite out; she turned to look for a match or a spill to light one of the candles. Her back was turned to the door, but as she stood there she heard it creak a little as some one pushed it open and came into the room. And this some one, much to her surprise, marched straight up to the stamp drawer, not to the money one, as if well acquainted with the arrangements, and by the light which came in from the hall stood quietly helping himself to some stamps. And who do you think it was? Why no one in the world but Leo's father himself!

Mamma all but burst out laughing, but she managed to stay quite still for a moment. Then she called out: 'What are you doing in that drawer?'

It was papa's turn to jump then! But he soon got over his start.

'What are you doing there all by yourself in the dark?' he said. 'And what should I be doing but taking a stamp or two, of course,' he went on, coolly. 'I've always forgotten to say what a good idea it is to have stamps and wrappers and things so handy here. I never knew you kept them here till a few nights ago, when I came in here to see if there was any coal, as my fire was nearly out, and the drawer was open.'

'Ah,' thought Mamma, 'Leo did say he had asked Cynthia to shut it the night he had a headache, and no doubt she forgot.'

'And,' papa went on, 'I was so glad to see where the stamps were, as I sometimes run short. Since then I've helped myself to whatever I wanted, two or three times.'

'So you are the culprit,' Leo's mother exclaimed, laughing. And then she told the whole story.

His father was very much interested, and very sorry to have caused any anxiety. He put a whole shilling into the 'till,' which more than put Leo's accounts straight. And the next day he did something still nicer. He brought Leo home the neatest little letter-weigher you ever saw, and told him to add a new rule, to say that letters should be weighed at a charge of a farthing each, in case anyone was in doubt how many stamps to put on. And he also gave Leo a present of a packet of big envelopes of different sizes, which he told him he might sell for a halfpenny each, as they were thick and strong. So Leo's business is flourishing and increasing very much, and he has even thoughts of adding luggage labels and registered-letter envelopes to his stock in trade.

And since the night that mamma watched for the burglars, not a single stamp or postcard or anything has ever been missing.

Brave Little Denis

The brave man is not he who feels no fear,For that were stupid and irrational;But he whose noble soul its fear subdues,And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.Joanna Baillie.

CHAPTER I. – WHAT IS 'BRAVE?'

The news had come up to the nursery, and there was great excitement and rejoicing. Linda and Nettie chattered so fast, and had so many questions to ask, that the 'big' boys, Alex and Lambert, when they came in to tea could not at first find out what it was all about, or get anyone to explain. And when at last baby – Miss Baby, who was two years old and quite understood that, when nurse wanted to speak, it was not the time to pull her shoes off and complain that 'hers toes was told' – condescended to be quiet and let poor nurse answer, the noise did not grow any less, I can assure you.

'Going to Baronscourt for Christmas. Hurrah!' shouted Alex. 'Three cheers for Granny, Lambert,' which Lambert was only too ready to join in.

'Do you think Granny will make us a Christmas-tree, nurse?' asked Nettie.

'She should,' said Linda, 'because of missing last year, you know.'

'Me kismas-tee, too,' said Baby.

'Silly little girl, everybody can't have a Christmas-tree for themselves,' said Linda; at which snub Baby began her preparations for a scream, which was only averted by Alex good-naturedly picking up his little sister and instructing her to give three cheers for Granny.

'Now join too, Denis,' said Linda. 'Why don't you cheer too?'

Denis raised his grave little face.

'I want to finish this story,' he said, dropping his eyes again on the book in his hands.

'What a fancy he's taken for reading, all of a sudden,' said Linda in a lower voice to nurse. 'I don't believe he understands it. He reads awfully slowly when he's at his lessons.'

'Well, Miss Linda, he's only five,' said nurse. 'It's nice for him to find something to keep him quiet sometimes. But he is rather strange this afternoon. I don't know what he's got in his head, sitting there by himself, though to be sure he's always a good bit quieter than his brothers.'

'He's such a baby for his age,' said Linda, rather contemptuously. 'When Alex was seven – that's only two years older than Denis is now – he could do all sorts of things – jump his pony and play cricket, and' —

'I don't think you can remember much about it, Linda,' said Alex, who had overheard her. 'When I was seven you were only five, and that's three years ago, and when Lam was five he couldn't do any better than Den.'

'Because Lambert was delicate, and Denis is not a bit delicate; he's just very babyish,' said Linda, turning away, as if that settled the question.

Denis looked up and opened his lips as if going to speak, but then shut them again and said nothing.

'Aren't you glad to go to Baronscourt, Den?' said gentle little Nettie, the sister who came next him in age. She was sitting beside him at the tea-table, and spoke in rather a low voice. 'Don't you remember how pretty it is there? It's only six months since we were there last. You can't have forgotten it.'

'No,' said Denis; 'I've not forgotten it.'

'Then, aren't you glad to go?'

'I'm glad to see Granny and Prince,' said Denis; but that was all Nettie could get out of him.

He was always a quiet little boy, but during the next few days, if anyone had noticed him closely, it would have been seen that he was even quieter than usual. But these next few days were very busy ones, for the Christmas visit to Baronscourt had been decided on hurriedly, and the nursery arrangements were rather upset. Only once, when the children's mother had come up to see them, she noticed Denis sitting silently in a corner with a very grave look on his little face.

'Is he not well?' she asked nurse, and nurse, after a glance in the child's direction, replied 'that she did not think he was ill; he was often very quiet – it would pass off again.'

'The change to Baronscourt will brighten him up,' said his mother. And then she went on to tell nurse some of the arrangements.

'I had a letter this morning,' she said. 'The house will be very full, but they can take us all in. The girls will have the little room next to mine, and the boys will have the turret room at the end of the picture gallery.'

A movement beside her made her stop and look round. Denis had left his corner and was standing beside her, listening with all his ears, and gazing up in her face with his large soft blue eyes.

'And where will nurse, and 'Liza, and baby, and me sleep,' he asked.

His mother laughed.

'You won't be forgotten,' she said. 'Nurse and baby will have the old nursery, and you will have a little cot beside them, I daresay.'

A look of satisfaction crept over his face.

'And 'Liza?' he asked.

'Oh, poor 'Liza won't be forgotten either,' said his mother.

Denis grew brighter after this conversation, and at tea that afternoon, when all the children were talking, he joined in as usual.

'Mother told me where you'se all to sleep at Granny's house,' he announced, impatiently. 'I'm to sleep with nurse and baby.'

'Yes, of course, because you're such a baby yourself,' said Linda. 'Nettie and I are to have a room to ourselves like we have at home. I hope it'll be the turret room at the end of the gallery. I do so love the gallery – at night, you know, when the moon comes in through the coloured glass and makes all the faces of the pictures look so queer – red and purple, and blue and green. The red ones look quite jolly, but the green and blue ones look dreadful.'

'Like ghosts,' suggested Lambert.

'Yes, something like that, I suppose,' said Linda, as if she was in the habit of seeing ghosts, and knew quite what they were like.

'Or like us when we play snapdragon – at the end, you know, when they throw salt in among the brandy,' suggested Nettie.

'Don't talk about that, please, Nettie,' whispered Denis, tugging softly at his sister's arm.

Nettie looked surprised, but she understood Den better than did any of the others, so she said no more; but later in the evening, when they were alone, she asked him what he meant.

'I don't know,' said Denis; 'don't ask me; I want to forget about it,' and he gave a little shiver.

And question as Nettie would, he could not be got to explain further.

There was only one Sunday at home before the day came for going. It was a cold and snowy day; too cold, it was decided, for the children to go to church, so in the afternoon their mother sent for them all to read with her. The stormy weather led to their talking about adventures in winter – about poor travellers being lost in the snow, and the brave things that had been done to rescue them sometimes, and the children's mother told them some stories which they thought very interesting.

'What is "brave?"' asked Denis suddenly. He was sitting beside his mother, and was holding her hand.

Mother looked round.

'Suppose you each answer Denis's question?' she said. 'I'll begin with you, Alex, as you're the oldest. What does true bravery mean?'

'Den didn't say "true" bravery, mother,' objected Linda, who had already shrugged her plump shoulders contemptuously at her little brother's question, with a muttered 'So silly – anybody could tell that.' – 'He only said, "what does 'brave' mean?" If you say "true bravery," it gets more puzzling.'

Mother looked at Linda with a rather amused expression.

'That is why I added the word you object to, my dear Linda. I want you all to think about it a little, not just to answer what "anybody can tell," without reflecting at all.' Linda blushed. Sometimes it was annoying that mother had such quick ears. But she said nothing. 'Come, Alex,' continued mother, 'what is true bravery?'