'It must do; oh yes, I think there are only three letters that really matter. I can't send for any so late. The servants are all busy; these letters can be put in the pillar-box just opposite. But I really must not let myself run out of stamps in this way.' 'Some days you have so many more letters than others. It must be difficult to know how many stamps you need,' said Marion, who thought mamma so perfect that she did not even like to hear her calling herself 'stupid' for running short of stamps. '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?' [Illustration: THE LARGE ORDER] 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.'