63 Tom Seven Years Old.

When he had done this, he ran out of the
room, hiding it in his hand. Annie and
May had not seen it. On the stairs he met
James, the footman, carrying down a coal-
scuttle.

“Oh, James,” said he, “I want you to
give this to the postman to take the very
next time he comes. When will he come
again?” |

James stopped.

“Don’t touch it—don’t touch it!” cried
Tom, in a great fright. “ Your fingers are
black with the coals, and it would never do
for it to arrive dirty.”

“Master Tom,” said he, “whatever have
you been doing? Does your papa know ?”

“Well, why do you ask ?” said Tom.

“You go and show it him first, sir,” said
James, “before you send it. Why, what
an idea, writing to the Queen! However
did it get into your head ?”

“Did you never write to the Queen,
James?” asked Tom. “If you can write, |
and want her to do anything for you, why