"There's one letter that will hardly bear delay. It is for Mr. Paul of Islip. If you can return it me out of the box I will send it over by hand at once; my son will take it." "But it is not possible, sir. Once a letter is put into the box I dare not give it back again," remonstrated Mrs. Sym, gazing amiably at Mr. Preen through her spectacles, whose round glasses had a trick of glistening when at right angles with the light. "You might stretch a point for once, to oblige me," returned Mr. Preen, fretfully. "And I'm sure I'd not need to be pressed to do it, sir, if I could," she cried in her hearty way. "But I dare not break the rules, sir; I might lose my place. Our orders are not to open the receiving box until the time for making-up, or give a letter back on any pretence whatever." Mr. Preen saw that further argument would be useless. She was a kindly, obliging old body, but upright to the last degree in all that related to her place. Anything that she believed (right or wrong) might not be done she stuck to. "Obstinate as the grave," muttered he. Dame Sym did not hear; she had turned away to serve a child who came in for some toffee. Mr. Preen waited. "When will the letter go?" he asked, as the child went out. "By to-morrow's day mail, sir. It will be delivered at Islip--I think you said Islip, Mr. Preen--about half-past four, or so, in the afternoon." "Is the delay of much consequence, sir?" inquired Oliver, as he and his father turned out of the shop. "No," said Mr. Preen. "Only I hate letters to be delayed uselessly in the post." * * * * * Tea was waiting when they got in. A mutton chop was served with it for Mr. Preen, as he had lost his dinner. Jane ran downstairs, drank a cup of tea in haste, and ran back again. She had been busy in her bedroom all day, smartening-up a dress. A picnic was to be held on Thursday, the next day but one; Jane and Oliver were invited to it, and Jane wanted to look as well as other girls. After tea Oliver sat for ever so long at the open window, reading the _Worcester Journal_. He then strolled out to the Inlets, sauntered beside the brook, and presently threw himself listlessly upon one of the benches facing it. The sun shone right upon his face there, so he tilted his straw hat over his eyes. That did not do, and he moved to another bench which the trees shaded. He often felt lonely and weary now; this evening especially so; even Jane was not with him. His thoughts turned to Emma Paul; and a glow, bright as the declining sun rays, shot up in his heart. As long as _she_ filled it, he could not be all gloom.