I think you write the prettiest hand of any little girl (or big one, either) I ever knew.  The letters you make are as even and regular as printed ones.  The next time you write, tell me how far you have to go to school and whether you go alone or not.

I am busy all the time writing for the papers and magazines all over the country, so I don’t have a chance to come home, but I’m going to try to come this winter.  If I don’t I will by summer SURE, and then you’ll have somebody to boss and make trot around with you.

Write me a letter whenever you have some time to spare, for I am always glad and anxious to hear from you.  Be careful when you are on the streets not to feed shucks to strange dogs, or pat snakes on the head or shake hands with cats you haven’t been introduced to, or stroke the noses of electric car horses.

Hoping you are well and your finger is getting all right, I am, with much love, as ever,

PAPA.

My Dear Margaret:  Here it is summertime, and the bees are blooming and the flowers are singing and the birds making honey, and we haven’t been fishing yet.  Well, there’s only one more month till July, and then we’ll go, and no mistake.  I thought you would write and tell me about the high water around Pittsburg some time ago, and whether it came up to where you live, or not.  And I haven’t heard a thing about Easter, and about the rabbit’s eggs—­but I suppose you have learned by this time that eggs grow on egg plants and are not laid by rabbits.

I would like very much to hear from you oftener, it has been more than a month now since you wrote.  Write soon and tell me how you are, and when school will be out, for we want plenty of holidays in July so we can have a good time.  I am going to send you something nice the last of this week.  What do you guess it will be?

Lovingly,
PAPA.

The Caledonia

WEDNESDAY.

My Dear Mr. Jack: 

I owe Gilman Hall $175 (or mighty close to it) pussonally—­so he tells me.  I thought it was only about $30, but he has been keeping the account.

He’s just got to have it to-day. McClure’s will pay me some money on the 15th of June, but I can’t get it until then.  I was expecting it before this—­anyhow before Gilman left, but they stick to the letter.

I wonder if you could give me a check for that much to pay him to-day.  If you will I’ll hold up my right hand—­thus:  that I’ll have you a FIRST-CLASS STORY ON YOUR DESK BEFORE THE LAST OF THIS WEEK.

I reckon I’m pretty well overdrawn, but I’ve sure got to see that Hall gets his before he leaves.  I don’t want anything for myself.

Please, sir, let me know right away, by return boy if you’ll do it.

If you can’t, I’ll have to make a quick dash at the three-ball magazines; and I do hate to tie up with them for a story.