"You may carry them in to Mr. Dalton," said William Budd.

 

"Now for it!" thought Sam, as he entered the counting-room with reluctant step.

 

"Here's the letters, Mr. Dalton," said our hero, looking embarrassed.

 

Mr. Dalton took them, and glanced at the superscription.

 

"What's all this?" he demanded. "This letter is for Ferguson & Co. And so are the rest. What does it mean?"

 

"I guess there's some mistake," said Sam, uncomfortably.

 

"Why did you take these letters? Did you think my name was Ferguson?" demanded Mr. Dalton.

 

"No, sir."

 

"Didn't you know they were not for me, then?"

 

"They gave them to me at the post office," stammered¹ Sam.

 

"Did you give the number of my box?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"What number did you call for?"

 

"I don't remember," answered Sam, abashed².

 

"Then you don't remember the number of my box?"

 

"I don't remember now," Sam admitted.

 

"Did you call for No. 776?"

 

"Yes," said Sam, promptly³.

 

"That's not the number," said the merchant, quietly. "You must return these letters instantly, and call for my mail. I will give you the number of my box on a card, and then you can't make any mistake. You have made a blunder, which must not be repeated."

 

"Yes, sir," said Sam, glad to get off with no sharper admonition.

 

He returned to the post office, and this time he did his errand correctly.

 

At three o'clock Sam was permitted to leave the office and look out for a boarding-place. He had managed to scrape acquaintance during the day with Henry Martin, an errand boy in the next store, and went to consult him.

 

"Where do you board?" he asked.

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