I need hardly
say that this harsh decision proved the ruin of my professional
prospects, and I was sent back to my wheelbarrow. It was when we were
tired of our ordinary amusements, during a week of wet weather, that
Polly and I devised a new piece of fun to enliven the monotony of the
hours when we were shut up in that town nursery at the top of the
house.
Outside the nursery-windows were iron bars--a sensible precaution of
Aunt Maria against accidents to "the little ones." One day when the
window was slightly open, and Polly and I were hanging on the
window-ledge, in attitudes that fully justified the precautionary
measure of a grating, a bit of paper which was rolled up in Polly's
hand escaped from her grasp, and floated down into the street. In a
moment Polly and I were standing on the window-ledge, peering down--to
the best of our ability--into the square and into the area depths
below. Like a snow-flake in summer, we saw our paper-twist lying on
the pavement; but our delight rose to ecstasy when a portly passer-by
stooped and picked up the document and carefully examined it.
Out of this incident arose a systematic amusement, which, in advance
of our age, we called "the parcel post.
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