When the cake was finished, he covered it with a strong wrapper of brown paper, and addressed it to “James Burfoot, Fishdealer,” adding the name of the town in which they both lived, and the words “_per_ rail—carriage paid.” He was careful, in writing the address, to disguise as much as possible his handwriting, and, it is needless to add, he did not as usual put a printed label on the parcel bearing his name and address. Next morning he considerably astonished his son Bob, a boy of twelve, by telling him that he needed him to go an errand. The command was an awkward one for Bob, who had arranged with two companions to spend the day at a town not far off, at which there were to be races, and no end of shows and sports. Bob accompanied his father to the bakehouse about as nimbly as a murderer going to execution. Above the cover bearing the name and address, Coglin had tied a wrapper of paper to conceal the address, and inside that had placed a sixpence wrapped in paper to pay the carriage. The parcel thus arranged he sternly placed in Bob’s hands. “You’re to take that to Edinburgh, and hand it in at the railway parcel office. They’ll find the address and the money inside. You’re to say nothing—just put down the parcel and walk out; do you understand?” “Could I not take it to the railway station here?” sulkily returned his son. “It’ll go just as well.” “No! You’re to go to Edinburgh, and ask no questions, or I’ll half murder you!” cried Coglin. “It’s a present, and the—the customer doesn’t want the folk to know who sent it, or where it comes from.” “And am I to walk all the way to Edinburgh?” groaned the boy, ruefully. His father tossed him a sixpence, with the words— “You can take the train;” and Bob’s spirits rose somewhat, but scarcely to their normal level. At the end of the lane he found his two companions patiently waiting. They were overjoyed to see the sixpence, but the sight of the parcel was a terrible damper. That load was all that lay between them and a day of pure, unalloyed joy. They could have kicked the parcel; and one seriously suggested to Bob that they should quietly drop it into the river or the sea, and go their way undisturbed. Bob reluctantly declined the proposal, but was easily persuaded to go to Portobello first instead of to Edinburgh, and have his fill of fun before taking the parcel to that city. “It’s a present,” the boys reasoned, “and they’re not to know who sends it or where it comes from, so it doesn’t matter whether they get it soon or late, or whether they get it all, for that matter.”