Here is another story in Library Lady’s Christmas Stories series.
The Family Mail Bag
By Mary Joanna Porter
Edited By Jane Mouttet
The family mailbag was made of black and white straw arranged in checks. It was flat and nearly square, lined with gray linen, and fastened at the top with a narrow black ribbon. It had two long, finely made straw handles, which Luella and Francis were accustomed to grasping when, twice a day regularly, they went for the family mail at half-past eight in the morning and at half-past three in the afternoon.
Their instructions were always to go back and forth to the post office without stopping, always to tie the bag securely after putting the mail inside, and never to open it after it was thus fastened. They were to take turns carrying the bag, and upon returning to their home, they were always to take it at once to the study of their father, Rev. Mr. Robinson.
A public mail carrier was important, but the small village in which they lived didn’t have one. In his absence, the two children performed their service well—at least they always did—except on one unfortunate day, the day of which our story is to tell.
The children went to the office as usual and were quite delighted to find there a registered letter addressed to “Luella and Francis Robinson.” Luella felt very proud when the postmaster asked her, as the elder, to sign the registered receipt.
“What’s that for?” asked Francis.
“It’s for proof that you’ve received the letter. You see that a registered letter usually contains something valuable.”
What can it be? It’s from Aunt Maria. See, her address is written on the side of the envelope?”
“Yes,” said the postmaster, a very good friend of the children. “It’s certainly from your aunt, and it probably contains something for you both, but you’d better put it in your bag now and tie it up according to your father’s wish.”
The children obediently acted upon this suggestion and started for home. On their way, they talked constantly about their letter, trying vainly to guess what it might contain.
“It’s something small, anyway,” said Luella, “for it doesn’t seem to take any room.”
“Maybe ’tisn’t anything, after all,” said Francis.
“Oh, yes, it is, for the letter is registered!”
So they talked and wondered until they had gone about half the distance toward home. Then they reached a spreading apple tree that grew by a fence near the sidewalk, beneath which was a large stone, often used as a resting place for pedestrians.
“Let’s sit down a while,” said Francis. “I feel tired, don’t you?”
“Yes, but father wouldn’t like us to stop.”
“Oh, yes, he would if he knew how tired we are. I’m going to rest a moment, anyway. That can’t be any harm.”
Luella allowed herself to follow her brother’s example. So, they took the first step in disobedience.
Next, Luella said: “I wonder if we couldn’t just unfasten the bag and look at that letter again. It’s our letter, you know.”
“Of course, it is. Give me the bag. I’ll open it.”
Then, Francis deliberately opened the bag. Thus, the second step in wrong-doing was taken.
They examined the letter closely and leisurely, not one minute, but many minutes, passing while they were thus engaged. Then Luella said: “I’m going to read the letter. Whether we read it here or at home, it’s all the same.”
It was a very kind letter from Aunt Maria, who had recently visited them. She closed the letter, saying, “While I was with you, I enjoyed noticing your constant obedience. As a reward, I enclose a five-dollar gold piece for you each. Please accept the gift with my love.”
“Where are the gold pieces?” asked Francis, taking the envelope from Luella. “Oh! Here’s one in the corner of this thing. I’ll take this, but where’s the other?”
Where was the other? It was easier to ask the question than to reply. The two children folded and unfolded the letter. They turned the envelope inside out. They searched through their clothing. They inspected the grass and the path. If it had been possible, they would have lifted the stone upon which they had been sitting, but that would have been a herculean task. At length, they reluctantly gave up the search and sadly went on their way.
“I wish we hadn’t opened the letter,” said Luella. “What are we going to tell mother and father anyhow?”
“I think we’d better tell them the whole story. Maybe they’ll help us look for the other gold piece.”
With the one coin in his hand, Francis naturally took a more hopeful view of the situation than his sister did.
“Perhaps Aunt Maria only put one in the letter,” he suggested.
“Oh, no; she’s too careful for that. She never makes mistakes,” said Luella positively. “I only wish we’d minded. That’s all.”
Francis echoed the wish in his heart, though he did not repeat it aloud. Thus, two repentant children entered the house and the study. Mother was upstairs attending to the baby, and Father was evidently out. The brother and sister awaited his return in silence, Luella meanwhile grasping the letter, and Francis the single coin.
“What’s that you have?” asked Mr. Robinson; “a letter? How did it get out of the bag?”
“It’s ours,” answered Luella, trembling as she spoke. “We—we—we—” then she burst into tears.
“Let me have it,” commanded Mr. Robinson.
Luella obeyed and kept crying while her father read. Francis wanted to cry, too, but he thought it was unmanly, and choked back the tears.
“I need to ask you no more questions,” said their father. “The truth is that I was calling on old Mrs. Brown when you stopped under the apple tree, and I saw the whole thing from her window. You don’t know how sorry I felt when I found that my boy and girl couldn’t be trusted. I saw that you had lost something, and after you had left, I examined the grass about the stone and found the other gold piece. But I have to punish you by putting the money away for a whole month. At the end of that time, I will return it to you if you have obeyed. I do not intend to be severe, but I think you ordinarily are good children. I understand how strong the temptation was. Are you not sorry that you yielded to it?”
“Yes, sir, we are,” exclaimed both children emphatically.
“And now, what am I going to do about the mailbag? Can I let you have it after this?”
“Yes, Father, you can,” they both replied once more and after that, they were always worthy of their trust.
When Aunt Maria made her next visit, they told her the story of their misdoing. Her only comment was: “You see, children, that it is necessary always to pray, ‘Deliver us from evil,’ for even when we want to do right, without help from above, we shall fail.”
Purchase a PDF of this story – https://payhip.com/b/i4adA