The William Henry Letters Part 28

P. S. Cousin Joe has sent me a smelling-bottle, a little gilt one he brought home, that's got ninety-four different smells in it. Mother is writing you a note. She says you can't dance on her carpet. Father says he's sorry he didn't learn the graces, and means to when you come again.

We can dance in the barn. Tommy has just come in. He says he knows his B A C's. He's a funny boy. He means A B C's. But he always gets the horse before the cart. One day we tried to make conundrums, and Georgiana made this,--see if you can answer it: Which is best, to have plum-cake for supper and only have a little mite of a piece, or cookies, and have as many as you want?

Georgiana's kitty has just jumped over the fence. She's after my morning-glories again. Just as fast as I fasten 'em up, she goes to playing with the strings and claws 'em down again. Lucy Maria drew a picture of her doing it.

M.

_A Note from Dorry._

DEAR WILLIAM HENRY'S GRANDMOTHER,--

William Henry wants I should tell you not to be scared when you see another boy's handwriting on the back of this letter, and not to think he's got cold, or got anything else, like measles, or anything of that kind, and not to feel worried about his not writing for so long, for he is all right except the first joint of his forefinger. He crooked that joint, or else uncrooked it, playing base ball. 'T was a heavy ball and he took it whole on that joint, and 't is so stiff he can't handle a penholder. He thinks you will all wonder why he doesn't write, and worry about his getting sick or something, but he never felt better. Appet.i.te very good. He has received his cousin Matilda's letter, and will answer it when he can. He wants to know what she'd think if she had to write poetry for composition. Our teacher told us we must each write one verse about June. I put three of them in for you to see, but don't put our names.

"O I love the verdant June, When the birds are all in tune, When the rowers go out to row, When the mowers go out to mow, O, sweetly smells the fragrant hay, As we ride on the load and stow it away."

"In June we can sail In the gentle gale, On the waters blue, And catch cod-fish That make a good dish, And mackerel too."

"In June the summer skies are clear, And soon green apples do appear.

And though they're hard and sour, we know That every day they'll better grow.

This teaches us that boys, also, Every day should better grow."

P. S. He wants I should tell you 't is tied up in a rag all right and don't hinder his studying. Says he wishes his cousin Lucy Maria would write him one of her kind of letters, that she knows how to write, and tell what they are all doing and what they talk about, and when his finger is well he will answer all the letters they will write to him.

Very respectfully,

BILLY'S FRIEND, DORRY.

_Aunt Phebe's Note._

MY DEAR BILLY,--

Grandmother worries about that finger. Do ask Dorry to write again, or else take the penholder in your middle one, though we mistrust that's damaged, or you'd have written before this. I've had my picture taken and send you one to keep. Look at it often, and if you've done anything wrong, think it shakes its head at you! Little wrong things, or big ones, all the same. For little wrongs are more dangerous, because we think they're of no account. But they show what's in a person, same as a little pattern of goods tells what the whole piece is. Show me half an inch of cotton and I'll tell you what color the whole spool is.

I'd no idea of having my picture taken. I was right in the heart of baking, when your Uncle J. drove up and said he'd harnessed up on purpose. 'T was all a contrived plan between him and the girls. I saw them smiling together when Mattie brought out my black alpaca. I thought the girls seemed mighty ready to take hold and finish up the baking. But he got caught in his own trap, for Lucy Maria went with us, to make sure my collar and things looked fit to be taken, and she set her foot down we shouldn't leave the saloon till he'd had his, for she was going to have a locket with us both inside, and I had to be done over small. What an operation it is to have your picture taken! If we could only take ether and be carried through! He put my head in a clamp, and crossed my hands, and pinned up a black rag for me to look at, and told me to look easy and natural, and smile a very little! I'm sure I tried to, but your Uncle J. says 't is a very melancholy face, and Lucy Maria says the cheek-bones cast a shadow! Your father says the worst of it is, it does look like me! I think it's too bad to make fun of it, after all I pa.s.sed through! Your Uncle J. took things easy and joked with the man, and was laughing when the cover was taken off and didn't dare to unlaugh, he says, so he came out all right, with a laughing face, as he always is.

The girls want we should be taken large and hang up, side by side, in two oval frames, over the mantel-piece. But their father says he sha'

n't be hung up alive, if he can help himself.

It isn't likely I shall write to you again very soon. Cousin Joe and his accordion are coming, and he'll bring his sisters, and the young folks about here know them, and I expect there'll be nothing but frolicking.

Then there'll be some of your Uncle J.'s folks after that, so you see we'll be all in a hubbub and I shall have to be the very hub of the hubbub, I suppose. Lucy Maria says, "Tell William Henry to send us a charade, or something to amuse the company with." Write when you can.

With a great deal of love, your affectionate

AUNT PHEBE.

P. S. Take good care of your finger. A finger-joint would be a great loss. I think cold water is as good as anything. Grandmother wishes you had some of her carrot salve. Let us hear from you in some way.

Grandmother wants to know if the Two Betseys don't make carrot salve.

I must add here that Lucy Maria was not the girl to give up those pictures in "two oval frames." For by perseverance, and partly with my a.s.sistance, the thing was secretly managed, and managed so well that Uncle Jacob actually carried them out home himself, in a bundle to Lucy Maria, without knowing it! And they now hang in triumph over the fireplace in the "girls' chamber."

_Lucy Maria to William Henry._

DEAR BILLY,--

'T is a pity about that forefinger. Pray get it well enough to handle a pen, 't is so long since you've written. So you want home matters reported. Eatable matters of course will be most interesting. Milk and b.u.t.ter, plenty. Gingerbread (plain), ditto. Gingerbread (fancy), scarce.

Cookies, quiet. Plum-cake, in demand. Snaps, lively. Brown-bread, firm.

White-bread (sliced), dull. Biscuits (hot), brisk. Custard, unsteady.

Preserves not in the market.

What do we do, and what do we talk about? Why, we talk about our cousin William Henry, and what we do can't be told within the bounds of one letter. Think of seven cows' milk to churn into b.u.t.ter, besides a cheese now and then, and besides working for the extra hands we hire this time o' year! I should have written to you before, when we first heard of your accident, if I could have got the time. Hannah Jane is away, and we've let Mattie go with Susie Snow to Grandma Snow's again for a few days. Grandma Snow likes to have Mattie come with Susie, for 't is rather a still, dull place. So you must think we are quite lonesome here now, and we are, especially mother. Father tells her she'd better advertise for a companion. I've a good mind to advertise to be a companion. What do companions do? The old lady might be cross, or the old gentleman, but that wouldn't hurt me, so long as I kept clever myself. Don't doubt I'd get fun out of it some way. There's fun in about everything I think.

I've been trying to get father and mother to go to Aunt Lucy's and stay all night. But father thinks there wouldn't be anybody to shut the barn-door, and mother thinks there wouldn't be anybody to do anything, though I've promised to scald the pans, and do up the starched things, and keep Tommy out of the sugar-bowl. He takes a lump every chance he can get. Takes after his father. Father puts sugar on sweetened puddings, if mother isn't looking! We've made some verses to plague Tommy, and when Mattie gets her piano, they're going to be set to music.

SONG.

A SWEET TOMMY.

As turns the needle to the pole, So Tommy to the sugar-bowl.

Tra la la, tra la la!

Sweet, sweet Tommy!

Tommy always takes a toll Going by the sugar-bowl.

Tra la la, tra la la!

Sweet, sweet Tommy!

Were Tommy blind as any mole, He'd always find the sugar-bowl.

Tra la la, tra la la!

Sweet, sweet Tommy!

He's a funny talking fellow. We took him into town last night, to see the illumination. This morning we heard him and Frankie Snow telling Benny Joyce about it. Father and I were listening behind the blinds.

Made father's eyes twinkle. Don't you know how they twinkle when he's tickled?

"You didn't see the _rumination_ and we did!" we heard Tommy say.

"Rumination? What's a rumination?" asked Benny.

"O hoo! hoo!" cried Tommy. "Denno what a rumination is!"

"Why," said Frankie, "don't you know the _publicans_? Wal, that's it."

"O poh!" said Benny. "Publicans and sinners! I knew they's coming!"

"And soldiers!" said Frankie. "O my! All a marching together!"