"I wish, mother, you wouldn't talk to me as if you thought I didn't know what I was about," he said, in an angry tone, slamming the door after him as he went out. He had not gone far when he met Bob White, who was going with a note from the clergyman to get some books out of the library. "Come with me," said Bob, "and we'll have a look through the books." "I've got to go to the post office," said Charlie, "but there's time enough yet; I'll go with you." He argued with himself, "What's the use of putting the letter in ever so long before post-time if it won't go a bit the quicker." He was in an irritable humour, angry to think that _he_ should have been doubted. If he had been like Tom Brown, or Joe Denton, or any of those careless fellows, it would have been a different thing. Arrived at the library, both the boys were soon interested in looking over the books, and the time flew rapidly. "I'll just glance at these," thought Charlie, taking out two more with very attractive titles, "and then I must be off to the post." Charlie took up a third, determined that it _should_ be the last, when Bob said, "I think you had better inquire how the time goes." "It's nothing like time for the post to close yet, is it, sir?" he asked of the librarian. "It only wants three minutes to the time; it is not possible for you to save it, I am afraid." Charlie dashed down the broad steps and along the streets as hard as he could run; but he was too late, the post had just gone, and he was obliged to drop the letter into the empty box. He walked slowly home, out of breath and out of temper, hoping no questions would be asked. "I don't see why I should say it was too late unless I'm asked," he argued, shrinking from confessing to his mother that she was justified in doubting him. Nothing was said about the letter that night; his father was much worse, and everything else was forgotten. Charlie was almost heartbroken to see him so ill, and miserable at the thought that he was deceiving him about the letter. The next morning, as he was leaving the room to go out to his work, his father called him back. "Charlie," he said, "I am expecting a sister of mine to-night, and I want you to go to the train and meet her; she would get the letter you posted last night this morning, and will have time to get here by the half-past eight train to-night." He paused for a moment. Why did not Charlie undeceive him about the letter _at once_? He made up his mind to tell him, but put it off until his father had finished all he had to say.