Marjorie opened the first letter, and quickly turned the page to see the signature.

“Why, Uncle Steve,” she cried, “this is signed Ned and Dick!  I didn’t know horses could write letters.”

“There are a great many things, my child, that you don’t know yet.  And so Ned and Dick have written to you!  Now that’s very kind of them.  Read me what they say.”

In great glee, Marjorie read aloud: 

    “Dear Marjorie: 
     It is too bad
     For you to act this way;
     Just think what fun we might have had
     Out driving every day.

    “We could have gone to Blossom Banks,
     Or Maple Grove instead;
     But no, you had to cut up pranks
     That landed you in bed!

    “We hope you’ll soon be well again,
     And get downstairs right quick;
     And we will all go driving then. 
     Your true friends,

     Ned and Dick.”

“Well, I do declare,” said Uncle Steve, “I always said they were intelligent horses, but this is the first time I’ve ever heard of their writing a letter.  They must be very fond of you, Marjorie.”

Marjorie’s eyes twinkled.  She well knew Uncle Steve had written the letter himself, but she was always ready to carry out her part of a joke, so she replied: 

“Yes, I think they must be fond of me, and I think I know somebody else who is, too.  But it was nice of Ned and Dick to write and let me know that they hadn’t forgotten me.  And as soon as I can get downstairs, I shall be delighted to go driving with them.  Where is Blossom Banks, Uncle?”

“Oh, it’s a lovely place, a sort of picnic ground; there are several grassy banks, and blossoms grow all over them.  They slope right down to the river; but, of course, you wouldn’t think them nearly so nice as a sloping barn roof.”

Marjorie knew she must stand teasing from Uncle Steve, but his smile was so good-natured, and he was such a dear old uncle anyway, that she didn’t mind it very much.

“Suppose I read another letter,” she said, quite ready to turn the subject.

“Do; open that one with the typewritten address.  I wonder who could have written that!  Perhaps the cow; she’s very agile on the typewriter.”

The mental picture of the cow using the typewriter produced such hilarity that it was a few moments before the letter was opened.

“It is from the cow!” exclaimed Marjorie, “and she does write beautifully on the machine.  I don’t see a single error.”

“Read it out, Midge; I always love to hear letters from cows.”

So Marjorie read the cow’s note: 

    “Mopsy Midge, come out to play;
     I’ve waited for you all the day. 
     In the Garden and by the brook,
     All day for you I vainly look. 
     With anxious brow and gaze intense
     I lean against the old rail fence,