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 THE 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS 
 
 BY 
 
 ABBY MORTON DIAZ 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1870, 
 
 BY 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD & Co. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 
 
 MY DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS: 
 
 Much to my surprise, I was asked one day if I 
 would be willing to edit the William Henry Letters 
 for publication in a volume. 
 
 At first it seemed impossible for me to do anything of 
 the kind ; " for," said I, " how can any one edit who 
 is not an editor? Besides, I am not enough used to 
 writing." It was then explained to me that my duties 
 would simply be to collect and arrange the Letters, and 
 furnish any little items concerning William Henry and 
 his home which might interest the reader. It was also 
 hinted, in the mildest manner possible, that I was not 
 chosen for this office on account of my talents, or my 
 learning, or my skill in writing ; but wholly because 
 of my intimate acquaintance with the two families at 
 Summer Sweeting place, for I have at times lived 
 close by them for weeks together, and have taken 
 tea quite often both at Grandmother's and at Aunt 
 Phebe's. 
 
 After a brief consideration of the proposal, I agreed 
 to undertake the task ; at the same time wishing a more 
 experienced editor could have been found. 
 
 1 A
 
 2 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 My acquaintance with the families commenced just 
 about the time of William Henry's going to school, and 
 in rather a curious way. 
 
 I was then (and am now) much interested in the 
 Freedmen. While serving in the Army of the Poto 
 mac, I had seen a good deal of them, and was con 
 nected with a hospital in Washington at the time when 
 they were pouring into that city, hungry and sick, and 
 half-naked. I belonged to several Freedmen's So 
 cieties, and had just then pledged myself to beg a bar- 
 relful of old clothing to send South. 
 
 But this I found was, for an unmarried man, having 
 few acquaintances in the town, a very rash promise. I 
 had no idea that one barrel could hold so much. The 
 pile of articles collected seemed to me immense. I won 
 dered what I should do with them all. But when packed 
 away there was room left for certainly a third as many 
 more ; and I had searched thoroughly the few garrets 
 in which right of search was allowed me. Even in those, 
 I could only glean after other barrel-fillers. A great 
 many garrets yielded up their treasures during the war ; 
 for " Old clo' ! old clo' ! " was the cry then all over the 
 North. 
 
 Now, as I was sitting one afternoon by my barrel, 
 wishing it were full, it happened that I looked down into 
 the street, and saw there my unknown friend, waiting 
 patiently in his empty cart. This unknown friend was 
 a tall, high-shouldered man, who drove in, occasionally, 
 with vegetables. There were others who came in with 
 vegetables also, and oftener than he ; but this one I had 
 particularly noticed, partly because of his bright, good-
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 3 
 
 humored face, and partly because his horse had always a 
 flower, or a sprig of something green, stuck in the har 
 ness. 
 
 At first I had only glanced at him now and then in 
 the crowd. Then I found myself watching for his blue 
 cart, and next I began to wonder where he came from, 
 and what kind of people his folks were. He joked 
 with the grocery-men, threw apples at the little ragged 
 street children, and coaxed along his old horse in a sort 
 of friendly way that was quite amusing. And though 
 I had never spoken a word to him, nor he to me, I 
 called him my unknown friend, for a sight of him al 
 ways did me good. 
 
 It was a bony old gray horse that he drove, with a long 
 neck poking way ahead ; and the man was a farmer- 
 like man, and wore farmer-like clothes ; but he had a 
 pleasant, twinkling eye, and the horse, as I said before, 
 was seldom without a flower or bit of green stuck behind 
 his ear or somewhere else about the harness. 
 
 And often, when the town was hot and dusty, and busi 
 ness people were mean, I would say to myself, as my 
 friend drove past on his way home, How I should like 
 to ride out with him, no matter where, if 't is only where 
 they have flowers and green things growing in the 
 garden ! 
 
 On this particular afternoon, as I have said, I ob 
 served my friend sitting quietly in his cart, " bound out," 
 as the fishermen say, sitting becalmed, waiting for 
 something ahead to get started. 
 
 It happened that I was just then feeling very sen 
 sibly the heat and confinement of the town, and was
 
 4 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 more than usually weary of business ways and business 
 people ; actually pining for the balmy air of pine woods 
 and the breath of flowery fields. And perhaps, thought I, 
 my friend may live among warm-hearted country folk, 
 who will be delighted to give to my poor contrabands, 
 and whose garrets no barrelman has yet explored ! 
 
 So, giving a second look, and seeing that he still sat 
 there, patiently awaiting his turn, I ran down, without 
 stopping to think more about it, and asked if I might 
 ride out with him. 
 
 " O yes. Jump in ! jump in ! " said he, in the pleas- 
 antest manner possible ; then he offered me his cush 
 ion, and began to double up an empty bag for himself. 
 
 " No, no. Give me the bag," said I ; and folding it, I 
 laid it on the board, just to take off the edge of the 
 jolting a little. And my seat seemed a charming one, 
 after having been perched up on an office-stool so long. 
 
 That cushion of his took my eye at once. It looked 
 as if it came out of a rocking-chair. The covering was 
 of black cloth, worked in a very old-fashioned way, with 
 pinks and tulips. The colors were faded, but it had a 
 homespun, comfortable, countrified look ; in fact, the first 
 glance at that queer old cushion assured me that I was 
 going to exactly the right place. 
 
 Presently we got started, and certainly I never had a 
 better ride, nor one with a pleasanter companion. He 
 asked me all sorts of funny questions about electricity, 
 and oxygen, and flying-machines, and the telegraph, and 
 the moon and stars. 
 
 " Now you are a learned man, I suppose," said he ; 
 " and I want you to tell me how that golden-rod gets its
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 yellow out of black ground." I said I was not a learned 
 man at all, and I did n't believe learned men themselves 
 could tell how it got its yellow, and the asters their pur 
 ple, and the succory its blue, and the everlasting its 
 white, all out of the same black ground. He said he 
 was pretty sure his wife could n't boil up a kettleful and 
 color either of those colors from them. 
 
 So we went talking on. He asked me where I 'd been 
 stopping, and what I did for a living. And I told him 
 what I did for a living, and all about soldier life, and the 
 contrabands, and about my barrel. Our road led through 
 woods part of the way, and I drew in long breaths of 
 woody air. He told me a funny woodchuck story, and 
 had a good deal to say about wood-lots, how some 
 rich men formerly owned great tracts, but becoming poor 
 were forced to sell ; and how, when pines were cut off, 
 oaks grew up in their place. And among other things 
 he told me that a hardback would turn into a huckleberry- 
 bush. I said that seemed like a miracle. He was go 
 ing on to tell me about one that he had watched, but just 
 then we turned into a pleasant, shady lane. 
 
 We had n't gone far down this shady lane before we 
 heard a loud screaming behind us, and looking round 
 saw a small boy caught fast in the bushes by the skirt 
 of his frock. 
 
 " Do you see that little boy ? " I asked. 
 
 " O yes, I see him," he said, laughing. " Hullo, Tom 
 my ! what you staying there for?" 
 
 The boy kept on crying. 
 
 " What you waiting for ? " he called out again, just 
 as if he could n't see that the bushes would not let the 
 child stir.
 
 6 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 "We found out afterwards that little Tommy had hid 
 there to jump out and scare his father, but got caught by 
 the briers. I went to untangle him, his clothes had 
 several rents, and was going to put him in the cart ; 
 but he would get in " his own self," he said. Then he 
 stopped crying, and wanted to drive. His father said, 
 " No, not till we get through the bars." 
 
 Then Tommy began again. And at last he said, half 
 crying and half talking, " When I 'ra the father, 
 and you 'm the ittle Tommy you can't drive 
 my horse ! " 
 
 His father laughed and said : " Well, when I 'm the 
 little Tommy, I '11 brush the snarls off my face so, and 
 throw them under the wheels so, and let 'em get run 
 over ! " 
 
 This made Tommy laugh, and very soon after we 
 came to the bars. 
 
 I looked ahead and saw a neat white house, not very 
 large, with green blinds and a piazza, where flowering 
 plants were climbing. There was a garden on one side 
 and an orchard on the other. Just across the garden 
 stood an old, brown, unpainted house. There were tall 
 apple-trees growing near it, that looked about a hundred 
 years old. My friend, Uncle Jacob, I 've heard him 
 called Uncle Jacob so much since that I really don't 
 know how to put a Mister to his name, said those 
 were Summer Sweeting trees, that had pretty nigh done 
 bearing. He said there used to be Summer Sweeting 
 trees growing all about there ; and that when he took part 
 of the place, and built him a house, he cut down the 
 ones on bis land, and set out Baldwins and Tallmans and
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 Porters ; but his mother kept her's for the good they had 
 done, and for the sake of what few apples they did bear, 
 to give away to the children. 
 
 The houses had their backs towards me, and I was 
 glad -of that, for I always like back doors better than 
 front ones. 
 
 Uncle Jacob whistled, and I saw a blind fly open, and 
 a handkerchief wave from an upper window, where two 
 girls were sitting. Uncle Jacob's wife stepped to the 
 door and waved a sun-bonnet, and then stepped back 
 again. 
 
 " Here, Tommy," said Uncle Jacob, " you carry in the 
 magazine to Lucy Maria, and here 's Matilda's gum- 
 arabic. I don't see where Towser is." 
 
 I jumped out, and said I guessed I would keep on ; 
 for I began to feel bashful about seeing so many women 
 folks. 
 
 " Where you going to keep on to ? " Uncle Jacob 
 asked. " This road don't go any farther." 
 
 I said I would walk across the fields to the next vil 
 lage and find a hotel. 
 
 " O no," said he, " stay here. Grandmother '11 be glad 
 enough to hear about the contrabands. She '11 knit 
 stockings, and pick up a good deal about the house to 
 send off. And I want to ask much as five hundred 
 questions more about matters and things myself. Come, 
 stay. Yes, we '11 give you a good supper, a first-rate 
 supper. Don't be afraid. My wife '11 There ! I 
 forgot her errand, now ! But if you Whoa ! whoa ! 
 Georgiana, take this pattern in to your Aunt Phebe, 
 and tell her I forgot to see if I could match it ; but I 
 don't believe the man had any like it."
 
 8 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Georgiana was a nice little girl that just then came 
 running across the garden, William Henry's sister, as 
 I learned afterwards. 
 
 Just then Aunt Phebe stepped to the door again. 
 
 " Here are two hungry travellers," said Uncle Jacob, 
 " and one of us is bashful." 
 
 " Well," said Aunt Phebe, very cheerily, " if anybody 
 is hungry, this is just the right place. How do you do, 
 sir? Come right in. We live so out of the way we 
 're always glad of company. Father, can't you intro 
 duce your friend ? " 
 
 "Well no I can't," said he. " But I guess he 'a 
 brother to the President ! " 
 
 I said my name was Fry. 
 
 Aunt Phebe said her father had a cousin that married 
 a Fry, and asked what my mother's maiden name was. 
 I told her my mother was a Toung, and that I was 
 named for my father and mother both, Silas Young 
 Fry. 
 
 I heard a tittering overhead, behind a pair of blinds, 
 where I guessed some girls were peeping through. And 
 afterwards, when I was sitting on the piazza, I heard 
 one tell another, not thinking I was within hearing, that 
 a young fry had come to supper. 
 
 When we all sat round the table the girls seemed full 
 of tickle, which they tried to hide, and one of them 
 asked me, I think ,it was Hannah Jane, with a 
 very sober face, 
 
 " Mr. Fry, will you take some fried fish ? " 
 
 I laughed and said, " No, I never take anything fried" 
 
 Then we all laughed together, and so got acquainted
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 very pleasantly ; for I have observed that a little ripple 
 of fun sets people nearer together than a whole ocean 
 of calm conversation. 
 
 After supper Uncle Jacob read the paper aloud, while 
 the girls washed up the dishes. All were eager to hear ; 
 and I found they kept the run of affairs quite as well as 
 townspeople. When there was too ranch rattling of dishes 
 for Uncle Jacob to be heard, and the girls lost some impor 
 tant item, he was always willing to read it over. Little 
 Tommy was rolled up in a shawl and set down in the 
 rocking-chair (that cushion did come out of it) while 
 his mother mended his clothes. This was the way he 
 usually got punished for tearing them. He was done 
 up in a shawl, arms and all, and kept in the rocking- 
 chair while the clothes were being mended, and he was 
 obliged to remain pretty quiet, or the chair would tip. 
 Aunt Phebe said Tommy was so careless, something 
 must be done, and keeping him still was the worst pun 
 ishment he could have. 
 
 When the girls finished their dishes and took out their 
 sewing, and were going to light the large lamp, their 
 mother said that we mustn't think of settling ourselves 
 for the evening. She said we must all go in to grand 
 mother's, for she 'd be dreadful lonely, missing Billy so. 
 
 Then Aunt Phebe told me how her nephew, Billy, a 
 ten-year old boy, had gone away to school only the day 
 before, and how they all missed him. 
 
 " Is n't he pretty young to go away to school ? " I asked. 
 
 " That 's what I told his father," said she. 
 
 " His father sent him away to keep him," said Uncle 
 Jacob. " Grandmother was spoiling him." 
 1*
 
 10 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 " Ruining the boy with kindness ? " said Lucy Maria. 
 
 " Well," said Aunt Phebe, " I suppose 't was so. I 
 know 't was so. But we did hate to have Billy go ! " 
 
 Uncle Jacob then took me across the garden, and in 
 troduced me to Mr. Carver, the father of William Henry, 
 and to Grandmother, old Mrs. Carver, as the neigh 
 bors called her. 
 
 She was a smiling, blue-eyed old lady, though with a 
 little bit of an anxious look just between the eyes. I 
 thought there was no doubt about her being a grand 
 mother that would spoil boys. 
 
 " Why, there 's Towser, now ? " said Uncle Jacob. 
 " He did n't come to meet me to-night." 
 
 *' He 's been there, off and on, pretty much all day," 
 said grandmother. " You see what he '& got his head on, 
 don't you ? " 
 
 " Billy's old boots ! " said Uncle Jacob. 
 
 " Yes. He set a good deal by Billy. I have n't put 
 the boots away yet," she said, with a sigh. 
 
 " Here, Towser ! come here, sir !" cried Uncle Jacob. 
 
 Towser was a big, shaggy, clever-looking dog. He 
 got up slowly, sniffed at my trousers, then walked to 
 Uncle Jacob, then round the room, then ta the door, then 
 up stairs and down again, and then back he went and 
 lay down by the boots. 
 
 " He misses my grandson," said grandmother to me, 
 trying to smile about it. 
 
 The little girl, Georgiana, sat on a cricket, holding a 
 kitten, tying and untying its ribbon. A square of patch 
 work had fallen on the floor. She stooped to pick it up 
 and dropped her spool. That rolled away towards the
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 door, and kitty jumped for it and soon got the thread in 
 a tangle. The door opened so suddenly that she hopped 
 up about two feet into the air and tumbled head over 
 heels. 
 
 It was Lucy Maria who opened the door. The other 
 girls came soon after ; and when Tommy was asleep Aunt 
 Phebe came too. We had a very sociable time. I don't 
 call myself a talker, but I did n't mind talking there, they 
 seemed so easy, just like one's own folks. I told grand 
 mother many things about the contrabands, and about 
 Southern life, and Southern people, and about soldier 
 life and battles and rations and making raids, and the 
 Washington hospitals, and how needy the contrabands 
 were, and about my barrel. " Poor creatures ! " said 
 she. " I must look up some things for them to-morrow." 
 Aunt Phebe thought there might be a good many things 
 lying about that would be of use to folks who had n't 
 anything. 
 
 " Billy's boots ! " cried Hannah Jane. 
 
 " Why, yes," said her mother, " no use keeping boots 
 for a growing boy." 
 
 Tin's and other remarks brought us back to William 
 Henry again, and grandmother seemed glad of it. She 
 liked to keep talking about her boy. 
 
 " I shall feel very anxious," she said. " I hope he will 
 write soon as he gets there. I told him he 'd better 
 write every day, so I could be sure just how he was. 
 For if well one day, he might n't be the next. 
 
 " grandmother, that *s too bad ! " said Lucy Maria. 
 " 'Tis cruel to ask a boy to write every day!" 
 
 " I would n't worry, mother," said Aunt Phebe. " Billy 
 ' always been a well child. "
 
 12 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 " These strong constitutions," said grandmother, " when 
 they do take anything, 't is apt to go hard with 'em." 
 
 '" He "s taken pretty much everything that can be 
 given to him already," said Aunt Phebe. 
 
 " I suppose they '11 put clothes enough on his bed," 
 said grandmother. " I can't bear to think of his sleeping 
 cold nights." 
 
 " Perhaps they have blankets in that part of the 
 country," said Uncle Jacob. 
 
 " But people are not always thoughtfu' about it," said 
 grandmother. " I really hope he '11 take care of himself, 
 and not be climbing up everywhere. Houses and trees 
 were bad enough ; but now they have gymnastic poles 
 and everything else, to tempt boys off the ground. O 
 dear ! when we think of everything that might happen to 
 boys, 't is a wonder one of them ever lives to grow up. 
 Is n't there a pond near by ? " 
 
 " O yes," said Lucy Maria, " Crooked Pond. That 's 
 what gives the name to the school, Crooked Pond 
 School." 
 
 " I hope he won't be whipped," said his little sister. 
 
 " Whipped ! " cried Aunt Phebe, " I should like to see 
 anybody whipping our Billy ! " 
 
 " O mother, I should n't," s*id Matilda. 
 
 " 'T is n't an impossible thing," said grandmother. 
 "He's quick. Billy's good-hearted, but he's quick. 
 He might speak up. I gave him a charge how to 
 behave. But then, what 's a boy's memory ? I don't 
 suppose he '11 remember one half the things I told him. 
 I meant to have charged him over again, the last thing, 
 not to stay out in the rain and get wet, where there 's no 
 body to see to his clothes being dried."
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 "Well," said Uncle Jacob, "if a boy doesn't know 
 enough to go into the house when it rains, he better 
 come home ? " 
 
 " What I hope is," said Aunt Phebe, " that he '11 keep 
 himself looking decent." 
 
 " If he does," said Lucy Maria, " then 't will be the 
 first time. The poor child never seemed to have much 
 luck about keeping spruced up. If anybody here ever 
 saw William Henry with no buttons off and both shoes 
 tied, and no rip anywhere, let 'em rai.se their hands ! " 
 
 Everybody laughed. I thought grandmother's eye 
 wandered round the circle, as if half taking it all in 
 earnest, and half hoping some hand would go up. But 
 no hand went up. 
 
 " Billy always was hard on his clothes," she said, with 
 a sigh. " If he only keeps well I won't say a word ; 
 but there's always danger of boys eating unwholesome 
 things, where there 's nobody to deny them." 
 
 " Billy's stomach 's his own, and he must learn to have 
 the care of it," said Mr. Carver. 
 
 Mr. Carver seemed a very quiet, thoughtful man, and 
 of quite a different turn from his brother. 
 
 I suggested that boarding-house diet was apt to be 
 plain ; and then told grandmother about a nephew of 
 mine, a nice boy, who was rather older than her grand 
 son, who was named after me, and of whom 1 thought 
 everything. I told her he had been away at school a 
 year, and that he enjoyed himself, and went ahead in his 
 studies, and never had a sick day, and came home with 
 better manners than he had when he went away. As 
 this pleased her, I said everything I could think of about
 
 14 THK WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 my nephew, including some anecdotes of little Silas, when 
 he was quite small ; and she told a few about William 
 Henry, the others helping her out, now and then, with 
 some missing items. 
 
 Uncle Jacob said he should n't dare to say how many 
 times she 'd been frightened almost to death about Billy. 
 Many and many a time she was sure he was lost, or 
 drowned, or run over, or carried off, and would never 
 come back alive ; but he always managed to come out 
 straight at last. Uncle Jacob said that if all the worry 
 that was worried in this world were piled up together, 
 'twould make a mountain ; but if all of it that net-d n't 
 be worried were knocked off, what was left would n't be 
 bigger than a huckleberry hill. 
 
 Mr. Carver said there was one thing which made him 
 entirely willing to trust William Henry away, and that 
 was, he had always been a boy of principle. " I have 
 watched him pretty closely," said Mr. Carver, "and have 
 noticed that he has a kind of pride about him that will 
 not permit him to lie, or equivocate in any way. 
 
 " That 's true ! " cried Aunt Phebe. " True enough 1 
 Billy don't always look fit to be seen, but he is n't deceit 
 ful. I '11 say that for him ! " 
 
 " When he went to our school," said Matilda, " and 
 was in the class below me, and there was a fuss among 
 the boys, and all of 'em told it a different way, the teacher 
 used to say she would ask William Henry, and then she 
 could tell just how it happened." 
 
 " He could n't have a better name than that," said Mr. 
 Carver. 
 
 Grandmother wiped her eyes, she seemed so gratified 
 that her boy's good qualities were remembered at last.
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 I am almost certain that an editor should not be so 
 long in telling his story. But I should like to say a 
 little more about that first night, just a very little 
 more. 
 
 Grandmother would n't hear of my going to a hotel. 
 Anybody that had been a soldier, and was doing good, 
 should never go from her house to find a night's lodging. 
 And she might as well have said, particularly anybody 
 that had a little Silas away at school, for I saw she felt it. 
 
 It required very little urging to make me stay ; for 
 in all my travels I had never met with a pleasanter set 
 of people. My choice was offered me, whether to lodge 
 in the front chamber, or in the little back chamber where 
 Billy slept. Of course I chose the last ; for people's best, 
 front, spare chambers never suit me very well. 
 
 Billy's room was a snug little room, low in the walls, 
 and papered with flowery paper. There were two win 
 dows, the curtains to which were made of paper like that 
 on the walls. You had to roll them up with your hands, 
 and tie them with a string that went over the top. The 
 room was over the sink-room, and in going into it we 
 stepped one step down. There was no carpet on the 
 floor, excepting a strip by the bedside and a mat before 
 the table. Grandmother said the table Billy and she 
 made together, so the legs did n't stand quite true. It 
 was covei'ed with calico, and more calico was puckered 
 on round the edge and came down to the floor. That 
 was done, she said, to make a place for his boots and 
 shoes. She thought 't was well for a boy to have a 
 place for his things, even if he did always leave them
 
 16 
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 somewhere else. There was nothing under the table 
 but one rubber boot, with the rubber mostly cut off, and 
 some pieces of new pine, easy to whittle, that Billy had 
 picked up and stowed away there. A narrow looking- 
 glass hung over the table. It had a queer picture at 
 the top, of two Japanese figures. The glass had a little 
 
 crack in one corner, cracked by his ball bouncing 
 up when he was trying it. Some green tissuerpaper. 
 hung around this fracture with a very innocent, orna* 
 mental air. Not far from the glass I observed a rusty 
 jack-knife stuck in the wall, close to the window-frame ; 
 and on its handle was hanging a string of birds'-eggs.
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 17 
 
 In stepping up to examine these I stumbled against an 
 old hair-covered trunk, quite a large one. The cover 
 seemed a little askew, and not inclined to shut. This 
 trunk was the color of a red cow, and for aught I know 
 was covered with the skin of a red cow. In the middle 
 of the cover the letters W. C. were printed in brass nails, 
 which led me to guess that the trunk had belonged 
 to William Henry's father. Grandmother raised the 
 cover, to see what kept it from shutting, and found 't was 
 a great scraggly piece of sassafras (saxifax) root, which 
 lay on top. 
 
 There was everything in that trunk, everything. Of 
 course I don't mean meeting-houses, or steamboats, or an 
 acondas ; but everything a boy would be likely to have. 
 I saw picture papers, leather straps, old pocket-books, a 
 pair of dividers, the hull of a boat, a pair of boot-pullers, 
 a chrysalis, several penholders, a large clam-shell, a few 
 pocket combs, comb parts gone, fishing-lines, reels, 
 bobs, sinkers, a bullet-mould, arrows, a bag of marbles, 
 a china egg, a rule, hammers, a red comforter, two odd 
 mittens, " that had lost the mates of 'em," a bird-call, a 
 mask, an empty cologne-bottle, a dime novel, odd cards, 
 all these, and more, were visible by merely stirring 
 the top layer a little. Also several tangles of twine, 
 twining and intertwining among the mass. Grandmother 
 shook up the things some, by means of a handle which 
 probably belonged to a hatchet, but the hatchet part was 
 buried, and I saw that the bottom was covered with 
 marbles, dominos, nails, bottles, slate-pencils, bits of brass 
 clock machinery, and all the innumerable nameless, shape 
 less things which would be likely to settle down co the
 
 18 THE WILLIAM HEN'RY LETTERS. 
 
 bottom of a boy's trunk. Grandmother said she should 
 set it to rights if it were n't for fish-hooks ; but anybody's 
 hands going in there would be likely to get fish-hooks 
 stuck into them. 
 
 In one end of the trunk was quite a fanciful box. It 
 was nothing but a common pine box, painted black, with 
 " cut out " pictures pasted on it. There were ladies' 
 faces, generals' heads, bugs, horses, butterflies, chairs, 
 ships, birds, and in the centre of the cover, outside, there 
 was a large red rose on its stalk. At the centre, iuside, 
 was a laughing, or rather a grinning face, cut from some 
 comic magazine. In this box was kept some of his more 
 precious treasures, a little brass anchor, a silver pencil- 
 case, a whole set of dominos, and a ball, very prettily 
 worked, orange-peel pattern, in many colors. This was 
 a present from his teacher. There was also a curious 
 pearl-handled knife, with the blades broken short off. 
 She said he never felt so badly about breaking any knife 
 as when that got broken, for it was one his cousin brought 
 him home from sea. He was keeping it to have new 
 blades put in. 
 
 " How much this trunk reminds me of little Silas's bu 
 reau-drawer ! " I said, taking up an old writing-book. 
 As I spoke several bits of paper fell out and among 
 them were some very funny pictures, done with a lead- 
 pencil and then inked over. 
 
 " What are these ? " I asked. " Does he draw ? " 
 
 " Well not exactly," she answered, " nothing that 
 can be called drawing. He tries sometimes to copy what 
 he sees." 
 
 " I suppose I may look at them," I said, picking up 
 one of the bits of paper. " Pray what is this ? "
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 19 
 
 Grandmother put on her spectacles, and turned the 
 paper round, as if trying to find the up and down of it. 
 
 " 0, this is Uncle Jacob chasing the calf," said she ; 
 " those things that look like elbows are meant for his 
 legs kicking up. And on this piece he 's tried to make 
 the old gobbler flying at Georgiana. You see the tur 
 key is as big as she 13. But maybe you don't know 
 which the turkey is ! That one is the fat man, and that 
 one is the cat and kittens. And that one is a dandy, 
 making a bow. He saw one over at the hotel that he 
 took it from." 
 
 She was sitting by the bed, and as she named them, 
 spread them out upon it, one by one, along with some 
 others I have not mentioned, all very comical. When I 
 had finished laughing over them I said, 
 
 " I should like to send these pictures in my barrel. 
 'T would give the little sick contrabands something to 
 laugh at." 
 
 " Well, I '11 tell Billy when he comes," she answered, 
 then gathered them up and smoothed the quilt again.
 
 20 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 The bedstead was a low one, without any posts, except 
 that each leg ended at the top with a little round, flat head 
 or knob. The quilt was made of light and dark patch 
 work. Grandmother told me, lowering her voice, that 
 Billy's mother made that patchwork when she was a little 
 girl just learning to sew ; but 't was kept laid away, and 
 about the last work she ever did was to set it together. 
 And 't was her request that Billy should have it on his 
 bed. She said Billy was a very feeling boy, though he 
 did n't say much. One time, a couple years ago, she 
 hung that quilt out to blow, and forgot to take it in till 
 after the dew began to fall, so, being a little damp, she 
 put on another one. But next morning she looked in, 
 and there 't was, over him, spread on all skewy ! 
 
 " Sometimes I think," she added, " that boys have 
 more feeling than we think for ! " 
 
 " I know they have ! " I answered. 
 
 A picture of William Henry's mother hung opposite 
 the bed. It was not a very handsome face, nor a pretty 
 face. But it had such an earnest, loving, wistful expres 
 sion, that I could not help exclaiming, " Beautiful ! " 
 
 " Yes, she was a beautiful woman. "We all loved her. 
 She was just like a daughter to me. Billy does n't know 
 what he 's lost, and 't is well he don't. I try to be a 
 mother to him ; but they say," said the tender-hearted old 
 lady, " they say a grandmother is n't fit to have the 
 bringing up of a child ! Billy has his faults." 
 
 " Now if I were a child," I exclaimed, " I should 
 rather you would have the bringing up of me than any 
 body I know of! And 'tis my opinion, from what I 
 hear, that you 've done well by Billy. Of course boys
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 21 
 
 are boys, and don't always do as they ought to. Now 
 there 's little Silas. He 's been a world of trouble 
 first and last. But then boys soon get big enough 
 to be ashamed of all their little bad ways. The big 
 gest part of 'em like good men best, and mean to be 
 good men. And I think Billy 's going to grow up a 
 capital fellow ! A capital fellow ! If a boy 's true- 
 hearted he '11 come out all right. And your boy is, 
 is n'l he ? 
 
 " O very ! " she said. " Very ! " 
 
 I was so glad to think, after the old lady had gone 
 down, that I 'd said something which, if she kept awake, 
 thinking about the boy, would be a comfort to her. 
 
 Next morning grandmother brought out quite an arm 
 ful of old clothes. A poor old couple, living near, she 
 said, took most of hers and Mr. Carver's ; but what few 
 there were of Billy's that were decent to send I might 
 have. A couple of linen jackets, a Scotch cap, two pairs 
 of thin trousers, not much worn, but outgrown, a small 
 overcoat, several pairs of stocking*, and some shoes. 
 And the boots also, and some underclothing, that Wil 
 liam Henry might have worn longer, she said, if he were 
 only living at home, where she could put a stitch in 'em 
 now and then. 
 
 Grandmother sighed as she emptied the pockets of 
 crumbles, green apples, reins, bullets, and knotted, gray, 
 balled-up pocket-handkerchiefs. Among the clothes she 
 brought out a funny little uniform, which I had seen 
 hanging up in his room, one that he had when a soldier, 
 or trainer, as she called it, in a military company, formed
 
 22 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 near the beginning of the war. It consisted of a blue 
 flannel sack, edged with red braid, red flannel Zouave 
 trousers, and a blue flannel cap, bound with red, and hav 
 ing a square visor. That uniform would fit some little 
 contraband, she said. 
 
 " Had n't you better keep those ? " I asked. " Won't 
 he want them ? " 
 
 " O no," she said. " He 's outgrown them. And 't is 
 no use keeping them for moths to get into." 
 
 She gave me some picture-books, and two primer.*, a 
 roll of linen, and quite a good blanket, all of which I 
 received thankfully. 
 
 In rolling up the different articles, I saw her eye rest 
 ing so lovingly on the little uniform, that I said, " Here, 
 grandmother, had n't you better take back these ? " 
 
 " O, I guess not," she answered. " I guess you better 
 send them. But," she added a moment after, " perhaps 
 they might as well stay till you send another barrel." 
 
 '* Just exactly as well," I said. And the old lady 
 seemed as if she had recovered a lost treasure. 
 
 Aunt Phebe added a good many valuable articles, so 
 that by the time Uncle Jacob was ready to start I had 
 collected two immense bundles, and felt almost brave 
 enough to face another barrel. For they all said tliey 
 would beg from their friends, and save things, and that I 
 must certainly come again. 
 
 " For you know," said Aunt Phebe, " 't is a great deal 
 better to hear you tell things than to read about them in 
 the newspapers." 
 
 They stood about the door to see us off, and Matilda 
 stroked the old horse, and talked to him as if he under-
 
 EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. 23 
 
 stood. She broke off two heads of phlox, red and 
 white, and fastened them in behind his ear. Uncle 
 Jacob told me, as we rode along, that the old horse really 
 )xpected to be patted and talked to before starting. And 
 indeed I noticed myself that after being dressed up he 
 "stepped off with an exceedingly satisfied air, just as I 
 have seen some little girls, and boys too, for that mat 
 ter, and occasionally grown people. 
 
 Bat it is quite time to give you the Letters. There 
 should be more of them, for the correspondence covers a 
 period of about two years. 'T is true that, after the first, 
 William Henry did riot write nearly as often. But still 
 there are many missing. Little Tommy cut up some 
 into strings of boys and girls, and at one time when 
 grandmother was n't very well, and had to hire help, the 
 girl took some to kindle fire with. The old lady said 
 she was sitting up in her arm-chair, by the fireplace one 
 day, when she saw, in the corner, a piece of paper with 
 writing on it, half burnt up. She poked it out with a 
 yardstick, and 't was one of Billy's letters ! Quite a 
 number which were perfect have been omitted. This is 
 because that some coming between were missing ; and 
 so, as the children say, there would n't be any sense to 
 them. Others contained mostly private matters. Very 
 few were dated. This is, however, of small importance, 
 as the Letters probably will never be brought forward 
 to decide a law case.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 THE first letter from William Henry which has been pre 
 served seems to have been written a few weeks after entering 
 his school, and when he had begun to get acquainted with 
 the boys. Could the letter itself be made to appear here, 
 with its very peculiar handwriting, and with all the otlier 
 distinctive marks of a boy's first exploit on paper, it would 
 be found even more entertaining than when given in the 
 printed form. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I think the school that I have come to is a very good 
 school. We have dumplings. I 've tied up the pills that 
 you gave me in case of feeling bad, in the toe of my cot 
 ton stocking that 's lost the mate of it. The mince pies 
 they have here are baked without any plums being put 
 into them. So, please, need I say, No, I thank you, 
 ma'am, to 'em when they come round ? If they don't 
 agree, shall I take the pills or the drops ? Or was it the 
 Ifcot flannels, and how many? 
 
 I 've forgot about being shivery. Was it to eat roast 
 onions ? No, I guess not. I guess it was a wet band 
 tied round my head. Please write it down, because you 
 a
 
 26 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 told me so many things I can't remember. How can 
 anybody tell when anybody is sick enough to take things ? 
 You can't think what a great, tall man the schoolmaster 
 is. He has got something very long to flog us with, that 
 bends easy, and hurts, Q. S. So Dorry says. Q. S. 
 is in the abbreviations, and stands for a sufficient quan 
 tity. Dorry says the master keeps a paint-pot in his 
 room, and has his whiskers painted black every morning 
 and his hair too, to make himself look scareful. Dorry 
 is one of the great boys. But Tom Gush is bigger. I 
 don't like Tom Cush. 
 
 I have a good many to play with ; but I miss you and 
 Towser and all of them very much. How does my sister 
 do ? Don't let the cow eat my peach-tree. Dorry Baker 
 he says that peaches don't grow here ; but he says the 
 cherries have peach-stones in them. In a month my 
 birthday will be here. How funny 't will seem to be 
 eleven, when I 've been ten so long ! I don't skip over 
 any button-holes in the morning now ; so my jacket comes 
 out even. 
 
 Why did n't you tell me I had a red head ? But I can 
 run faster than any of them that are no bigger than I am, 
 and some that are. One of the spokes of my umbrella 
 broke itself in two yesterday, because the wind blew so 
 when it rained. 
 
 We learn to sing. He says I 've a good deal of voice ; 
 but I 've forgot what the matter is with it. We go up 
 and down the scale, and beat time. The last is the best 
 fun. The other is hard to do. But if I could only get 
 up, I guess 't would be easy to come down. He thinks 
 something ails my ear. I thought he said I had n't got
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 27 
 
 any at all. What have a feller's ears to do with singing, 
 or with scaling up and down ? 
 
 Your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. Here 's a conundrum Dorry Baker made : In 
 a race, why would the singing-master win ? Because 
 " Time flies," and he beats time. 
 
 I want to see Aunt Phebe, and Aunt Phebe's little 
 Tommy, dreadfully. 
 
 W. H. 
 
 This second letter must have been pleasing to Aunt Phebe, 
 as it shows that William Henry was beginning to have some 
 faint regard for his personal appearance. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I 've got thirty-two cents left of my spending-money. 
 When shall I begin to wear my new shoes every day ? 
 The soap they have here is pink. Has father sold the 
 bossy calf yet ? There 's a boy here they call Bossy 
 Calf, because he cried for his mother. He has been here 
 three days. He sleeps with me. And every night, after 
 he has laid his head down on the pillow, and the lights 
 are blown out, I begin to sing, and to scale up and down, 
 so the boys can't hear him cry. Dorry Baker and three 
 more boys sleep in the same room that we two sleep in. 
 When they begin to throw bootjacks at me, to make me 
 stop my noise, it scares him, and he leaves off" crying. I 
 want a pair of new boots dreadfully, with red on the tops 
 of them, that I can tuck my trousers into and keep the 
 mud off. 
 
 One thing more the boys plague me for besides mj
 
 28 
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 head. Freckles. Dorry held up an orange yesterday. 
 "Can you see it?" says he. "To be sure," says I. 
 
 " Did n't know as you could see through 'em," says he, 
 meaning freckles. Dear grandmother, I have cried once, 
 but not in bed. For fear of their laughing, and of the 
 bootjacks. But away in a good place under the trees. 
 A shaggy dog came along and licked my face. But oh ! 
 he did make me remember Towser, and cry all over 
 again. But don't tell, for I should be ashamed. I wish 
 the boys would like me. Freckles come thicker in sum 
 mer than they do in winter. 
 
 Your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 If William Henry's recipe for the prevention of spunki- 
 ness were generally adopted, I fancy that many a boy would 
 be seen practising the circus performance here mentioned. 
 It must have been " sure cure ! " I well remember the 
 "plaguing" of my schooldays, and know from experience 
 how hard it is for a boy (or a man) always to keep his tem 
 per. The fellows used to make fun of n?y name. In our
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 29 
 
 quarrels, when there was nothing else left to say, they would 
 call out, leaving off the Silas, " Y Fry ? why not bake ? " 
 or " boil," or " stew." Of course to such remarks there was 
 no answer. 
 
 It is to be regretted that so few of Grandmother's letters 
 were preserved. As Billy here makes known the state of his 
 pocket-book, we may infer that she had been inquiring into 
 his accounts, and perhaps cautioning him against spending 
 too freely. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I do what you told me. You told me to bite my lips 
 and count ten, before I spoke, when the boys plague me, 
 because I 'm a spunky boy. But doing it so much makes 
 my lips sore. So now I go head over heels sometimes, 
 till I 'm out of breath. Then I can't say anything. 
 
 This is the account you asked me for, of all I've 
 bought this week : 
 
 Slippery elm .... 1 cent. 
 Corn-ball .... 1 cent. 
 Gum 1 cent. 
 
 And I swapped a whip-lash that I found for an orange 
 that only had one suck sucked out of it. The v< Two
 
 30 
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Betseys," they keep very good things to sell. They are 
 two old women that live in a little hut with two rooms to 
 
 it, and a ladder to go up stairs by, through a hole in the 
 wall. One Betsey, she is lame and keeps still, and sells 
 the things to us sitting down. The other Betsey, she 
 can run, and keeps a yard-stick to drive away boys 
 with. For they have apple-trees in their garden. But 
 she never touches a boy, if she does catch him. They 
 have hens and sell eggs. 
 
 The boys that sleep in the same room that we do 
 wanted Benjie and me to join together with them to buy 
 a great confectioner's frosted cake, and other things. 
 And when the lamps had been blown out, to keep awake 
 and light them up again, and so have a supper late at 
 night, with the curtains all down and the blinds shut up, 
 when people were in bed, and not let anybody know. 
 
 But Benjie had n't any money. Because his father 
 works hard for his living, but his uncle pays for his 
 schooling, and he would n't if he had. And I said I
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 31 
 
 would n't do anything so deceitful. And the more they 
 said you must and you shall, the more I said I would n't 
 and I should n't, and the money should blow up first. 
 
 So they called me " Old Stingy " and " Pepper-corn " 
 and " Speckled Potatoes." Said they 'd pull my hair if t 
 were n't for burning their fingers. Dorry was the mad 
 dest one. Said he guessed my hair was tired of standing 
 up, and wanted to lie down to rest. 
 
 I wish you would please send me a new comb, for the 
 large end of mine has got all but five of the teeth broken 
 out, and the small end can't get through. I can't get it 
 cut because the barber has raised his price. Send quite 
 a stout one. 
 
 I have lost two of my pocket-handkerchiefs, and an 
 other one went up on Dorry's kite, and blew away. 
 Your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 MY DEAK GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I did what you told me, when I got wet. I hung my 
 clothes round the kitchen stove on three chairs, but the 
 cooking girl she flung them under the table. So now I 
 go wrinkled, and the boys chase me to smooth out the 
 wrinkles. I 've got a good many hard rubs. But I 
 laugh too. That 's the best way. Some of the boys 
 play with me now, and ask me to go round with them. 
 Dorry has n't yet. Tom Gush plagues the most. 
 
 Sometimes the schoolmaster comes out to see us when 
 we are playing ball, or jumping. To-day, when we all 
 clapped Dorry, the schoolmaster clapped too. Somebody 
 toid me that he likes boys. Do you believe it ?
 
 32 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 A cat ran up the spout this morning, and jumped in 
 the window. Dorry was going to choke her, or drown 
 her, for the working-girl said she licked out the inside of 
 a custard-pie. I asked Dorry what he would take to let 
 her go, and he said five cents. So I paid. For she was 
 just like my sister's cat. And just as likely as not some 
 
 body's little sister would have cried about it. For she 
 had a ribbon tied round her neck. 
 
 The woman that I go to have my buttons sewed on 
 to, is a very good woman. She gave me a cookie with a 
 hole in the middle, and told me to mind and not eat the 
 hole. 
 
 Coming back, I met Benjie, and he looked so sober, I 
 offered it to him as quick as I could. But it almost 
 made him cry ; because, he said, his mother made her 
 cookies with a hole in the middle. But when he gets 
 acquainted, he won't be so bashful, and he '11 feel better 
 then. 
 
 We walked away to a good place under the trees, and 
 he talked about his folks, and his grandmother, and his
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 33 
 
 Aunt Polly, and the two little twins. They 've got two 
 cradles just like each other, and they are just as big as 
 each other, and just as old. They creep round on the 
 floor, and when one picks up anything, the other pulls it 
 away. I wish we had some twins. I told him tilings 
 too. 
 
 Kiss yourself for me. 
 
 Your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. If you send a cake, send quite a large one. I 
 like the kind that Uncle Jacob does. Aunt Phebe knows. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I was going to tell you about " Gapper Skyblue." 
 " Gapper " means grandpa. He wears all the time blue 
 overalls, faded out, and a jacket like them. That 's why 
 they call him " Gapper Skyblue." He 's a very poor old 
 man. He saws wood. We found him leaning up against 
 a tree. Benjie and I were together. His hair is all 
 turned white, and his back is bent. He had great patches 
 on his knees. His hat was an old hat that he had given 
 him, and his shoes let in the mud. I wish you would 
 please to be so good as to send me both your old-fash 
 ioned india-rubbers, to make balls of, as quick as holes 
 come. Most all the boys have lost their balls. And 
 please to send some shoe-strings next time, for I have to 
 tie mine up all the time now with some white cord that 
 I found, and it gets into hard knots, and I have to stoop 
 my head way down and untie 'em with my teeth, be 
 cause I cut my thumb whittling, and jammed my fingers 
 in the gate. 
 
 2* o
 
 34 
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Old Gapper Skyblue's nose is pretty long, and he 
 looked so funny leaning up against a tree, that I was 
 just going to laugh. But then I remembered what you 
 said a real gentleman would do. That he would be po 
 lite to all people, no matter what clothes they had on, or 
 whether they were rich people or poor people. He had 
 a big basket with two covers to it, and we offered to 
 carry it for him. 
 
 He said, " Yes, little boys, if you won't lift up the 
 covers." 
 
 We found 't was pretty heavy. And I wondered what 
 was in it, and so did Benjie. The basket was going to 
 "The Two Betseys." 
 
 When we had got half-way there, Dorry and Tom 
 Gush came along, and called out : " Hallo ! there, you 
 two. What- are you lugging off so fast ? " 
 
 We said we did n't know. They said, " Let 's see." 
 We said, " No, you can't see." Then they pushed us. 
 
 Gapper was a good way behind. I sat down on one 
 cover, and Benjie on the other, to keep them shut up.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 35 
 
 Then they pulled us. I swung my arms round, and 
 made the sand fly with my feet, for I was just as mad as 
 anything. Then Tom Gush hit me. So I ran to tell 
 Gapper to make haste. But first picked up a stone to 
 send at Tom Gush. But remembered about the boy that 
 threw a stone and hit a boy, and he died. I mean the 
 boy that was hit. And so dropped the stone down again 
 and ran like lightning. 
 
 " Go it, you pesky little red-headed firebug ! " cried 
 Tom Gush. 
 
 " Go it, Spunkum ! I '11 hold your breath," Dorry 
 hollered out. 
 
 The dog, the shaggy dog that licked my face when I 
 was lying under the trees, he came along and growled 
 and snapped at them, because they were hurting Benjie. 
 You see Benjie treats him well, and gives him bones. 
 And the master came in sight too. So they were glad 
 to let us alone. 
 
 The basket had rabbits in it. Gapper Skyblue wanted 
 to pay us two cents apiece. But we wouldn't take pay. 
 We would n't be so mean. 
 
 When we were going along to school, Bubby Short 
 came and whimpered to me that Tom and Dorry were 
 hiding my bird's eggs in a post-hole. But I got them 
 again. Two broke. 
 
 Bubby Short is a nice little fellow. He 's about as old 
 as I am, but over a head shorter and quite fat. His 
 cheeks reach way up into his eyes. He 's got little black 
 eyes, and little cunning teeth, just as white as the meat 
 of a punkin-seed. 
 
 I had to pay twenty cents of that quarter you sent, for
 
 36 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 breaking a square of glass. But didn't mean to, so 
 please excuse. I have n't much left. 
 
 Your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. When punkins come, save the seeds to roast. 
 If you please. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 One of my elbows came through, but the woman 
 sewed it up again. I 've used up both balls of my twine. 
 And my white-handled knife, I guess it went through 
 a hole in my pocket, that I did n't know of till after the 
 knife was lost. My trousers grow pretty short. But 
 she says 't is partly my legs getting long. I 'm glad of 
 that. And partly getting 'em wet. 
 
 I stubbed my toe against a stump, and tumbled down 
 and scraped a hole through the knee of my oldest pair. 
 For it was very rotten cloth. I guess the hole is too 
 crooked to have her sew it up again. She thinks a 
 mouse ran up the leg, and gnawed that hole my knife 
 went through, to get the crumbles in the pocket. I don't 
 mean when they were on me, but hanging up. 
 
 My boat is almost rigged. She says she will hem the 
 sails if I won't leave any more caterpillars in my pockets. 
 I 'm getting all kinds of caterpillars to see what kind of 
 butterflies they make. 
 
 Yesterday, Dorry and I started from the pond to run 
 and see who would get home first. He went one way, 
 and I went another. 
 
 I cut across the Two Betseys' garden. But I don't 
 see how I did so much hurt in just once cutting across.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 37 
 
 I knew something cracked, that was the sink-spout I 
 jumped down on, off the fence. There was a board I 
 hit, that had huckleberries spread out on it to dry. They 
 went into the rain-water hogshead. I did n't know any 
 huckleberries were spread out on that board. 
 
 I meant to go between the rows, but guess I stepped 
 . on a few beans. My wrist got hurt dreadfully by my 
 getting myself tripped up in a squash-vine. And while 
 I was down there, a bumble-bee stung me on my chin. 
 I stepped on a little chicken, for she ran the way I 
 thought she was n't going to. J don't remember whether 
 I shut the gate or not. But guess not, for the pig got 
 in, and went to rooting before Lame Betsey saw him, and 
 the other Betsey had gone somewhere. 
 
 I got home first, but my wrist ached, and my sting 
 smarted. You forgot to write down what was good for 
 bumble-bee stings. Benjie said his Aunt Polly put 
 damp sand on to stings. So he put a good deal of it on 
 my chin, and it got better, though my wrist kept aching 
 in the night. And I went to school with it aching. But 
 did n't tell anybody but Benjie. Just before school was 
 done, the master said we might put away our books. 
 Then he talked about the Two Betseys, and told how 
 Lame Betsey got lame by saving a little boy's life when 
 the house was on fire. She jumped out of the window 
 with him. And he made us all feel ashamed that we 
 great strong boys should torment two poor women. 
 
 Then he told about the damage done the day before by 
 some boy running through their garden, and said five 
 dollars would hardly be enough to pay it. " I don't 
 know what boy it was, but if he is present," says he, " I 
 call upon him to rise."
 
 38 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Then I stood up. I was ashamed, but I stood up. 
 For you told me once this saying : " Even if truth be a 
 loaded cannon walk straight up to it." 
 
 The master ordered me not to go on to the play-ground 
 for a week, nor be out of the house in play-hours. 
 From your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 I was very sorry that while in the neighborhood of the 
 brooked Pond school, a short time since, lack of time pre 
 vented my finding out the Two Betseys' shop. These worthy 
 women, as will be seen further on, became William Henry's 
 firm friends. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 Lame Betsey gave me something to put on my wrist 
 that cured it. I went there to ask how much money 
 must be paid. I had sold my football, and my brass 
 sword, and my pocket-book. They told me they should 
 not take any money, but if I would saw some wood for 
 them, and do an errand now and then, they should be 
 very glad. When I told Dorry, he threw up his hat, and 
 called out, " Three cheers for the ' Two Betseys.' " And 
 when his hat came down, he picked it up and passed it 
 round ; " for," says he, " we all owe them something." 
 One great boy dropped fifty cents in. And it all came 
 to about four dollars. And Bubby Short carried it to 
 them. But I shall saw some wood for them all the same. 
 
 Last evening it was rainy. A good many boys came 
 into our room, and we sat in a row, and every one said 
 some verses, or told a riddle- These two verses I send 
 for Aunt Phebe's little Tommy to learn. I guess he 'a
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 39 
 
 done saying " Fishy, fishy in the brook " by this time. 
 Dorry said he got them out of the German. 
 
 " When you are rich, " Better honest and poor, 
 
 You can ride with a span; And go as you can, 
 
 But when you are poor, Than rich and a rogue, 
 
 You must go as you can. And ride with a span." 
 
 This riddle was too hard for me to guess. But Aunt 
 Phebe's girls like to guess riddles, and I will send it to 
 them. Mr. Augustus says that a soldier made it in a 
 Rebel prison. Mr. Augustus is a tall boy, that knows a 
 good deal, and wears spectacles, and that 's why we call 
 him Mr. Augustus. 
 
 RIDDLE. 
 
 I 'm one half a Bible command, 
 
 That aye and forever shall stand ; 
 
 And, throughout our beautiful land, 
 
 'T is needed now to foil the traitorous band. 
 
 I 'm always around, yet they say 
 Too often I 'm out of the way, 
 Thereby leading astray ; 
 I 'm decked in jewels fine and rich array. 
 
 Although from my heart I am stirred, 
 I can utter but one little word, 
 And that very seldom is heard ; 
 My elder sister sometimes kept a bird. 
 
 Reads the riddle clear to you ? 
 
 I am very near to you : 
 
 Both very near and dear to you, 
 
 Yet kept in chains. Does that seem queer to you ? 
 
 That about being " stirred from the heart " is all true. 
 So is that about being " around" The " Bible com 
 mand," spoken of at the beginning, is only in three
 
 40 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 words, or two words joined by " and." This word is the 
 first half. But I must n't tell you too much. 
 
 They are all dear. But some kinds are dearer than 
 others. 
 
 I wish my father would send me one. 
 
 That about the bird is first-rate, though I never saw 
 one of that kind of I won't say what I mean (Dorry 
 says you must n't say what you mean when you tell rid 
 dles). But maybe you 've seen one. They used to have 
 them in old times. 
 
 I Ve launched my boat. She 's the biggest one in 
 school. Dorry broke a bottle upon her, and christened 
 her the " General Grant." The boys gave three cheers 
 when she touched water, and Benjie sent up his new 
 kite. It 's a ripper of a kite with a great gilt star on it 
 that 's got eight prongs. 
 
 My hat blew off, and I had to go in swimming after it. 
 It is quite stiff. The master was walking by, and stopped 
 to see the launching. When he smiles, he looks just as 
 pleasant as anything. 
 
 He patted me on my cheek, and says he, " You ought 
 to have called her the ' Flying Billy.' " And then he 
 walked on. 
 
 " What does ' Flying Billy ' mean ? " says I. 
 
 " It means you," said Dorry. " And it means that you 
 run fast, and that he likes you. If a boy can run fast, 
 and knows his multiplication-table, and won't lie, he likes 
 him." 
 
 But how can such a great man like a small boy ? 
 From your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 41 
 
 P. S. When the boys laugh at me, I laugh too. That 's 
 a good way. 
 
 P. S. There 's a man here that 's got nine puppies. 
 If I had some money I could buy one. The boys don't 
 plague me quite so much. I 'm sorry you dropped off 
 your spectacles down the well. I suppose they sunk. 
 
 I've got a sneezing cold. 
 
 W. H. 
 
 About the spectacles, I may as well confess that I was the 
 means of their being lost. 
 
 One day Uncle Jacob came into the office hastily, and, with 
 a look of distress, said to me very solemnly, 
 
 " Mr. Fry, if you can, I want you to leave everything, and 
 ride out with me ! " 
 
 ' Oh ! what is the matter ? " I exclaimed. 
 
 " Why," said he, " ever since we sent out word about old 
 clotbes, they 've been coming in so fast the rooms are all 
 filled up, and we don't know where to go 1 " 
 
 He then went on to tell that the notice had spread into all 
 the neighborhoods round about, and that bundles of every 
 description were constantly pouring in. They were left at 
 the back door, front door, side door, dropped on the piazza, 
 and in at the windows. Men riding by tossed them into the 
 yard, and little boys came tugging bundles, bigger than they 
 could lift, or dragged them in roller-carts, or wheeled them 
 in wheelbarrows. He said he found bundles waiting for him 
 at the store, at the post-office, and he could hardly ride 
 along the street without some woman knocking at the win 
 dow, and holding up one, and beckoning with her forefinger 
 for him to come in after it ! Even in the meeting-house 
 somebody took a roll of something from under a *hawl and 
 handed him ! He would have brought, the parcel, or a part
 
 42 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 of them, but there was every kind of a thing sent in, white 
 vests and flounced lace or muslin gowns, and open-work 
 stockings ; and some things were too poor, and some were 
 too nice, and his folks thought Mr. Fry should come out. 
 
 So what could I do but go ? And, as it happened, I could 
 " leave everything " just as well as not, and was glad to. 
 
 Grandmother received me in the kindest manner, gave me 
 a pair of black yarn stockings, asked about the contrabands, 
 talked about Billy, read me his letters, and, on the whole, 
 seemed much easier in her mind concerning him than when 
 I saw her before. 
 
 She was skimming pans of milk. With her permission I 
 watched the skimming, for pans of milk to a city man were 
 a rare sight to see ! I was also given some of the cream, 
 and a baked Summer Sweeting to eat with it. 
 
 The cream was put into a large yellow bowl, and the bowl 
 set in a six-quart tin pail. It was then ready to be lowered 
 into the well ; for, as country people seldom have ice, they 
 use the well as a refrigerator, and it is there they keep their 
 butter, cream, fresh meat, or anything that is likely to spoil. 
 
 " Do let me lower it down the well for you," -I said ; see 
 ing that her hand trembled a little ; and besides, I hardly 
 thought it prudent for her to go out, as the grass was damp, 
 there having been quite a sprinkle of rain. 
 
 " Well, if you 've a mind to take the trouble," she said, 
 as she banded me the pail, at the same time telling me to be 
 particular about putting stones around the bowl, in the bot 
 tom, to steady it. She then handed me the line, and cautioned 
 me about hitting another pail, which was already down the 
 well. 
 
 Just as I went out Uncle Jacob passed through the gate 
 into the garden, to pick his mother some beans. 
 
 " Sha' n't I do that ? " he asked.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 43 
 
 " O no," said I ; " I am very glad to make myself useful." 
 
 Little Tommy stood by the well watching me, and I was 
 talking to him and playing with Towser, and by not attending 
 to my business, I must have tied a granny-knot, though I 
 meant to tie a square one ; and about half-way down the pail 
 slipped off, and went plump to the bottom. 
 
 Little Tommy ran into the house calling out, " Grand 
 mother ! Grandmother ! that man lost your pail ! Mr. Fwy 
 let go of your pail ! " 
 
 Grandmother came running out and looked down. Her- 
 spectacles were tipped up on top of her head ; and when she 
 bent over the well-curb they slipped off, just touched the tip 
 of her nose, and were out of sight in a moment. 
 
 Uncle Jacob came up laughing and said, " Of course the 
 specs must go down to see where the cream went to ! " 
 But Grandmother thought it was no laughing matter. 
 
 Mr. Carver and Uncle Jacob had a good many spells of 
 fishing in the well. At last Uncle Jacob was lucky enough 
 to catch the handle of the pail with his hook, and then he 
 drew the pail up. It was found to be in quite a damaged 
 condition. The water looked creamy for some time. The 
 glasses never came to light. It seemed, therefore, no more 
 than my duty to send Grandmother another pair, which I did 
 soon after in a bright new six-quart pail, wishing with all my 
 heart they were gold-bowed ones. But I could not afford to 
 do more than replace the lost ones. 
 
 I will add that the six-quart pail was filled with the best of 
 peaches. 
 
 The next three letters seem to have been sent at one time. 
 Before they reached Grandmother she had worked herself 
 into a perfect fever of anxiety. 
 
 Owing to the rabbit affair, of which they contain the whole 
 Btory, William Henry had not felt like writing, so that, even
 
 44 
 
 before his letter was begun, they at the farm were already 
 looking for it to arrive. Then it took a longer time than he 
 expected to finish up his account of the matter ; and when at 
 last the letter was sealed and directed, the boy who carried 
 it to the post-office forgot his errand, and it hung in an over 
 coat pocket several days. No wonder, then, the old lady grew 
 anxious. 
 
 I was at the farm at the time they were looking for the 
 letters, and I really tried very hard to be entertaining ; but 
 not the funniest story I could tell about the funniest little 
 rollypoly contraband in the hospital could excite more than a 
 passing smile. 
 
 Aunt Phebe gave me my charge before I went in. 
 
 " You must be lively," said she. " Be lively ! Turn her 
 thoughts off of Billy ! That 's the way ! Though I do feel 
 worried," she added. " 'T is a puzzle why we don't have 
 letters. I 'm afraid something is the matter, or else it seems 
 to me we should. He 's been very good about writing. If 
 anything has happened to Billy, I don't know what we should 
 do. 'T would come pretty hard to Grandmother. And I do 
 have my fears ! But 't won't do to let her know I worry 
 about him. And you better be very lively ! We all have 
 to be ! " 
 
 I observed that Mr. Carver, although he talked very calmly 
 with his mother, and urged her to rest easy, was after all not 
 so very much at ease himself. He sat by the window ap 
 parently reading a newspaper. But it was plain that he only 
 wished Grandmother to think he was reading ; for he paid 
 but little attention to the paper, and was constantly looking 
 across the garden to see when Uncle Jacob should get back 
 from the post-office ; and the moment Towser barked he 
 folded his paper and went out. Grandmother put on her 
 " out-door " spectacles, and stood at the window. When Mr. 
 Carver returned she glanced rapidly over him with an ear-
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 45 
 
 nest, beseeching look, which seemed to say that it was not 
 possible but that somewhere about him, in some pocket, or 
 in his hat, or shut up in his hand, there must be a letter. 
 
 " The mail was late," Mr. Carver said ; " Uncle Jacob 
 could n't wait, and had left the boy to fetch it." 
 
 Grandmother was setting the table. In her travels to and 
 from the buttery she stopped often to glance up the road, and 
 during meal-time her eyes were constantly turning to the 
 windows. 
 
 Presently Aunt Phebe came in. 
 
 " The boy did n't bring any letters," said she ; " but I 've 
 been thinking it over, and for my part I don't think 't is 
 worth while to worry. No news is good news. Bad news 
 travels fast. A thousand things might happen to keep a boy 
 from writing. He might be out of paper, or out of stamps, 
 or out of anything to write about, or might have lessons to 
 learn, or be too full of play, or be kept after school, or might 
 a good many things ! " 
 
 " You don't suppose," said Grandmother, " that you don't 
 think it could n't be possible, could it, that Billy 's been 
 punished and feels ashamed to tell of it V " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Aunt Phebe. " Now don't, Grandmother, 
 I beg of you get started off on that notion ! Yesterday 't was 
 the measles. And day before 't was being drowned, and now 
 't is being punished ! " 
 
 " 'T would n't be like William not to tell of it," said Mr. 
 Carver. 
 
 " Not a bit like him," said Aunt Phebe. 
 
 " No," said Grandmother, " I don't think it would. But 
 you know when anybody gets to thinking, they are apt to 
 think of everything." 
 
 I told them there was a possibility of the letter being mis- 
 sent. And that idea reminded me of just such an anxious 
 time we had once about little Silas. His letter went to
 
 46 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 a town of the same name in Ohio, and was a long time reach 
 ing us. I made haste to tell this to Grandmother, and thought 
 it comforted her a little. 
 
 When I left the next morning, Mr. Carver followed me out 
 and asked me to make inquiries in regard to the telegraphic 
 communication with the Crooked Pond School, and to be in 
 readiness to telegraph ; for, in case no letter came that day, 
 he should send me word to do so. 
 
 But no word arrived, as the next mail brought the follow 
 ing letters, with their amusing illustrations. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I suppose if I should tell you I had had a whipping 
 you would feel sorry. Well, don't feel sorry. I will 
 begin at the. beginning. 
 
 We can't go out evenings. But last Monday evening 
 one of the teachers said I might go after my overjacket 
 that I took off to play ball, and left hanging over a fence. 
 It was a very light night. I had to go down a long lane 
 to get where it was ; and when I got there, it was n't 
 there. The moon was shining bright as day. Old Gap- 
 per Skyblue lives down that lane. He raises rabbits. 
 He keeps them in a hen-house. 
 
 Now I will tell you what some of the great boys do 
 sometimes. They steal eggs and roast them. There is 
 a fireplace in Tom Gush's room. Once they roasted a 
 pullet. The owners have complained so that the master 
 said he would flog the next boy that robbed a hen-house 
 or aa orchard, before the whole school. 
 
 Now I will go on about my overjacket. While I was 
 looking for it I heard a queer noise in the rabbit-house. 
 So I jumped over. Then a boy popped out of the rabbit-
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 47 
 
 house and ran. I knew him in a minute, for all he ran 
 so fast, Tom Gush. 
 
 Now when he started to run, something dropped out 
 of his hand. I went up to it, and 't was a rabbit, a dead 
 
 one, just killed ; for when I stooped down and felt of it, 
 it was warm. And while I was stooping down, there 
 came a great heavy hand down on my shoulder. It was 
 a man's great heavy hand. 
 
 Gapper had set a man there to watch. He hollered 
 into my ears, " Now I 've got you ! " I hollered, too, for 
 he came sudden, without my hearing. 
 
 "You little thief!" says he. 
 
 " I did n't kill it," says I. 
 
 " You little liar ! " says he. 
 
 " I 'm not a liar," says I. 
 
 " I '11 take you to the master,' ' says he. 
 
 " Take me where you want to," says I. 
 
 Then he pulled me along, and kept saying, " Who did, 
 if you did n't ? If you did n't, who did ? "
 
 48 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 And he walked me straight up into the master's room, 
 without so much as giving a knock at the door. 
 
 " I 've brought you a thief and a liar," says he. Then 
 he told where he found me, and what a bad boy I was. 
 Then he went away, because the master wanted to talk 
 with me all by myself. 
 
 Now I did n't want to tell tales of Tom, for it 's mean 
 to tell tales. So all I could say was that I did n't do it. 
 
 The master looked sorry. Said he was afraid I had 
 begun to go with bad boys. ' Did n't I see you walking 
 in the lane with Tom Cush yesterday ? " says he. I said 
 I was helping him find his ball. And so I was. 
 
 " If you were with the boys who did this," said he, 
 "or helped about it in any way, that 's just as bad." 
 
 I said I did n't help them, or go with them. 
 
 " How came you there so late ? " says he. 
 
 " I went after my oyerjacket," says I. 
 
 " And where is your overjacket ? " says he. 
 
 I said I did n't know. It was n't there. 
 
 Then he said I might go to bed, and he would talk 
 with me again in the morning. 
 
 When I got to our room, the boys were sound asleep. 
 I crept into bed as still as a mouse. The moon shone in 
 on me. I thought my eyes would never go to sleep 
 again. I tried to think how much a flogging would hurt. 
 Course, I knew 't would n't be like one of your little 
 whippings. I was n't so very much afraid of the hurt, 
 though. But the name of being whipped, I was afraid 
 of that, and the shame of it. Now I will tell you about 
 the next morning, and how I was waked up. 
 Your affectionate grandchild,
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 49 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I had to leave off and jump up and run to school 
 without stopping to sign my name, for the bell rang. 
 But, now school is done, I will write another letter to 
 send with that, because you will want to know the end 
 at the same time you do the beginning. 
 
 It was little pebbles that waked me up the next 
 morning, little pebbles dropping down on my face. 
 I looked up to find where they came from, and saw 
 Tom Gush standing in the door. He was throwing them. 
 He made signs that he wanted to tell me something. 
 So I got up. And while I was getting up, I saw my 
 overjacket on the back of a chair. I found out after 
 wards that Benjie brought it in, and forgot to tell 
 me. 
 
 Tom made signs for me to go down stairs with him. 
 He would n't let me put my shoes on. He had his in 
 his hand, and I carried mine so. So we went through 
 the long entries in our stocking-feet, and sat down on the 
 doorstep to put our shoes on. Nobody else had got up. 
 The sky was growing red. I never got up so early be 
 fore, except one Fourth of July, when I did n't go to bed, 
 but only slept some with my head leaned down on a win 
 dow-seat, and jumped up when I heard a gun go off. 
 Tom carried me to a place a good ways from the house. 
 Our shoes got soaking wet with dew. 
 
 Now I will tell you what he said to me. 
 
 He asked me if I saw him anywhere the night before. 
 I said I did. 
 
 He asked me where I saw him. 
 
 I said I saw him coming out of the hen-house, where 
 3 D
 
 50 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Gapper Skyblue kept his rabbits. He asked me if I 
 was sure, and I said I was sure. 
 
 " And did you tell the master ? " says he. 
 
 I said, " No." 
 
 " Nor the boys ? 
 
 No." 
 
 Then he told me he had been turned away from one 
 school on account of his bad actions, and he would n't 
 have his father hear of this for anything ; and said that, 
 if I would n't tell, he would give me a four-bladed knife, 
 and quite a large balloon, and show me how to send her 
 up, and if I was flogged he would give me a good deal 
 more, would give money, would give two dollars. 
 
 " I don't believe he '11 whip you," says he, " for he 
 likes you. And if he does, he would n't whip a small 
 boy so hard as he would a big one." 
 
 I said a little whipping would hurt a little boy just as 
 much as a great whipping would hurt a great boy. But 
 I said I would n't be mean enough to tell or to take pay 
 for not telling. 
 
 He did n't say much more. And we went towards 
 home then. But before we came to the house, he turned 
 off into another path. 
 
 A little while after, I heard somebody walking behind 
 me. I looked round, and there was the master. He 'd 
 been watching with a sick man all night. 
 
 He asked me where I had been so early. I said I had 
 been taking a walk. He asked who the boy was that 
 had just left me. I said 't was Tom Cush. He asked if 
 I was willing to tell what we had been talking about. I 
 aid I would rather not tell.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 51 
 
 Says he, " It has a bad look, your being out with that 
 boy so early, after what happened last night." 
 
 Then he asked me where I had found my overjacket. 
 I said, " In my chamber, sir, on a chair-back." 
 
 " And how came it there ? " says he. 
 
 " I don't know, sir," says I. 
 
 And, Grandmother, I almost cried ; for everything 
 seemed going against me, to make me out a bad boy. I 
 will tell the rest after supper. 
 
 Your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 Now I will tell you what happened that afternoon. 
 
 The school was about half done. 
 
 The master gave three loud raps with his ruler. 
 
 This made the room very still. 
 
 He asked the other teachers to come up to the plat 
 form. And they did. 
 
 Next, he waved his ruler, and said, " Fold." 
 
 And we all folded our arms. 
 
 It was so still that we could hear the clock tick. 
 
 He told Tom Gush to close the windows and shut the 
 blinds. 
 
 Then he talked to us about stealing and telling lies. 
 Said he did n't like to punish, but it must be done. He 
 said he had reason to believe that the boy whose name 
 he should call out was not honest, that he took other* 
 people's things and told lies. 
 
 Then he told the story, all that he knew about it, and 
 said he hoped that all concerned in it would have honor 
 enough to speak out and own it.
 
 52 
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Nobody said anything. 
 
 Then the master said, " William Henry, you may come 
 to the platform." 
 
 I went up. 
 
 Somebody way in the back part shouted out, " Don't 
 believe it ! " 
 
 " Silence ! " said the master. And he thumped his 
 ruler on the desk. 
 
 Then he told me to take off my jacket, and fold it up. 
 And I did. 
 
 He told me to hand my collar and ribbon to a teacher. 
 And I did. 
 
 Then he laid down his ruler, and took his rod and 
 bent it to see if it was limber. It was n't exactly a rod. 
 It was the thing I told you about when I first came to 
 this school. 
 
 He tried it twice on the desk first. 
 
 Then he took hold of my shoulder and turned my
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 53 
 
 back round towards him. He said I had better bend 
 down my head a little, and took hold of the neck of my 
 shirt to keep me steady. I shut my teeth together tight, 
 
 At that very minute Bubby Short cried out, " Master ! 
 Master ! Stop ! Don't ! He did n't do it ! He did n't kill 
 it ! I know who ! I '11 tell ! I will ! I will ! I don't 
 care what Tom Cush does ! 'T was Tom Cush killed it ! " 
 
 The master did n't say one word. But he handed me 
 my jacket. 
 
 The boys all clapped and gave three cheers, and he 
 let them. 
 
 Then he said to me, whispering, " Is this so, William ? " 
 And I .aid, low, " Yes, sir." 
 
 Then he took hold of my hand and led me to my seat. 
 And when I sat down he put his hand on my shoulder 
 just as softly, it made me remember the way my 
 mother used to before she died, and, says he, " My dear 
 boy," then stopped and began again, " My dear boy," and 
 stopped again. If he 'd been a boy I should have thought 
 he was going to cry himself. But of course a man 
 would n't. And what should he cry for ? It was n't he 
 that almost had a whipping. At last he told me to come 
 to his room after supper. Then Bubby Short was called 
 up to the platform. 
 
 Now I will tell you how Bubby Short found out about it. 
 
 He sleeps in a little bed in a little bit of a room that 
 lets out of Tom's. 'T is n't much bigger than a closet. 
 But it is just right for him. That morning when Tom 
 got up so early and threw pebbles at me, Bubby Short 
 had been keeping awake with the toothache. And he 
 heard Tom telling another boy about the rabbit.
 
 54 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 He made believe sleep. But once, while Tom was 
 dressing himself, he peeped out from under the bedquilt, 
 with one eye, to see a black-and-blue spot, that Tom said 
 he hit his head against a post and made, when he was 
 running. 
 
 But they caught him peeping out, and were dreadful 
 mad because he heard, and said if he told one single 
 word they would flog him. But he says he would have 
 told before, if he had known it had been laid to me. 
 
 Was n't he a nice little fellow to tell ? 
 
 0, I was so glad when the boys all clapped ! And 
 when we were let out, they came arid shook hands with 
 Bubby Short and me. Great boys and all. Mr. Augus 
 tus, and Dorry, and all. And the master told me how 
 glad he was that he could keep on thinking me to be an 
 honest boy. 
 
 Now are n't you glad you did n't feel sorry ? 
 Your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 The next time I went down to the farm I was told, of course, 
 all about the foregoing letters, how they were received, and 
 what effect they produced in the family when they were read. 
 Grandmother, however, gives a happy account of the recep. 
 tion and reading of them in the following reply, which she 
 wrote soon after they were received. 
 
 Grandmother's Letter to William Henry, in reply. 
 
 MY DEAR LITTLE BOY, 
 
 Your poor old grand mother was so glad to get those 
 letters, after such long waiting ! My dear child, we were
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 55 
 
 anxious-, but now we are pleased. I was afraid you 
 were down with the measles, for they 're about. Your 
 aunt Phebe thinks you had 'em when you were a month 
 old ; but I know better. 
 
 Your father was anxious himself at not hearing ; though 
 he did n't show it any. But I could see it plain enough. 
 As soon as lie brought the letters in, I set a light in the 
 window to let your aunt Phebe know she was wanted. 
 She came running across the yard, all of a breeze. You 
 know how your aunt Phebe always comes running in. 
 
 " What is it ? " says .she. " Letters from Billy ? I 
 mistrusted 't was letters from Billy. In his own hand 
 writing ? Must have had 'em pretty light. Measles 
 commonly leave the eyes very bad." 
 
 But you know how your aunt Phebe goes running on. 
 \our father came in, and sat down in his rocking-chair, 
 your mother's chair, dear. Your sister was sewing on 
 her doll's cloak by the little table. She sews remarkably 
 well for a little girl. 
 
 " Now, Phebe," says I, " read loud, and do speak every 
 word plain." I put on my glasses, and drew close up, 
 for she does speak her words so fast. I have to look her 
 right in the face. 
 
 At the beginning, where you speak about being 
 whipped, your father's rocking-chair stopped stock still. 
 You might have heard a pin drop. Georgianna said, 
 " O dear ! " and down dropped the doll's cloak. 
 " Pshaw!" said Aunt Phebe, "'t is n't very likely our 
 Billy 's been whipped." 
 
 Then she read on and on, and not one of us spoke. 
 Your father kept his arms folded up, and never raised his
 
 56 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 eyes. I had to look away, towards the last, for I could n't 
 see through my glasses. Georgianna cried. And, when 
 the end came, we all wiped our eyes. 
 
 " Now what 's the use," said Aunt Phebe, " for folks 
 to cry before they 're hurt ? " 
 
 " But you almost cried yourself," said Georgianna. 
 " Your voice was different, and your nose is red now." 
 And that was true. 
 
 After your sister was in bed, and Aunt Phebe gone, 
 your father says to me : " Grandma, the boy 's like his 
 mother." And he took a walk around the place, and then 
 went off to his bedroom without even opening his night's 
 paper. If ever a man set store by his boy, that man is 
 your father. And, O Billy, if you had done anything 
 mean, or disgraced yourself in any way, what a dreadful 
 blow 't would have been to us all ! 
 
 The measles come with a cough. The first thing is to 
 drive 'em out. Get a nurse. That is, if you catch them. 
 They 're a natural sickness, and one sensible old woman 
 is better than half a dozen doctors. Saffron 's good to 
 drive 'em out. 
 
 Aunt Phebe is knitting you a comforter. As if she 
 had n't family enough of her own to do for ! 
 From your loving 
 
 GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 I think this the proper place to insert the following letter 
 from Dorry Baker to. his sister. I am sorry we have so few 
 of Dorry's letters. Two very entertaining ones will be given 
 presently, describing a visit Dorry made to William Henry's 
 home. The two boys, as we shall see, soon after tbeir ac-
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 57 
 
 quaintance, grew to be remarkably good friends. Mr. Baker, 
 Dorry's father, hearing his son's glowing accounts of William 
 Henry's family, took a little trip to Summer Sweeting place 
 on purpose to see them, and was so well pleased with Grand 
 mother, Mr. Carver, Uncle Jacob, and the rest, as to sug' 
 gest to his wife that they should buy some land in the vicin' 
 ity, and turn farmers. He and Grandmother had a very 
 pleasant talk about their boys ; and not long after, knowing, 
 I suppose, that it would gratify the old lady, he sent hei 
 some of Dorry's letters, that she might have the pleasure of 
 reading for herself what Dorry had written about her Billy, 
 and about Billy's people and Billy's home. Perhaps, too, 
 Mr. Baker was a little bit proud of the smart letters hit son 
 could write. 
 
 Dorry's Letter to his Sister. 
 
 DEAR Sis, 
 
 If mother 's real clever, I want you to ask her some 
 thing right away. But if it 's baking-day, or washing- 
 day, or company 's coming off, or preserves going on, 
 or anything 's upset down below ; or if she 's got a 
 headache or a dress-maker, or anything else that 's bad, 
 then wait. 
 
 I want you to ask her if I may bring home a boy to 
 spend Saturday. Not a very big boy, do very well to 
 " Philopene" with you : won't put her out a bit. 
 
 If you don't like him at first, you will afterwards. 
 When he first came we used to plague him on account 
 of his looks. He 's got a furious head of hair, and 
 freckles. But we don't think at all about his looks now. 
 If anything, we like his looks. 
 
 He 's just as pleasant and gen'rous, and not a mean. 
 3*
 
 58 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 thing about him. I don't believe he would tell a lie to 
 save his life. I know he would n't. He 's always will 
 ing to help everybody. And had just as lief give any 
 thing away as not. And when he plays, he plays fair. 
 Some boys cheat to make their side beat. You don't 
 catch William Henry at any such mean business. All 
 the boys believe every word he says. Teachers too. 
 
 I will tell you how he made me ashamed of myself. 
 Me and some other boys. 
 
 One day he had a box come from home. 'T was his 
 birthday. It was full of good things. Says I to the 
 boys, " Now, maybe, if we had n't plagued him so, he 
 would give us some of his goodies." 
 
 That very afternoon, when we had done playing, and 
 ran up to brush the mud off OUP trousers, we found a 
 table all spread out with a table-cloth that he had bor 
 rowed, and in the middle was a frosted cake with " W. 
 H." on top done in red sugar. And close to that were 
 some oranges, and a dish full of nuts, and as much as a 
 pound of candy, and more figs than that, and four great 
 cakes of maple-sugar, made on his father's land, as big 
 as small johnny-cakes, and another kind of cake. And 
 doughnuts. 
 
 " Come, boys," says he, " help yourselves." 
 
 But not a boy stirred. 
 
 I felt my face a-blushing like everything. O, we were 
 all of us just as ashamed as we could be ! We did n't 
 dare go near the table. But he kept inviting us, and 
 at last began to pass them round. 
 
 And I tell you the things were tip-top and more too. 
 Such cake ! And doughnuts, that his cousin made I
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 59 
 
 And tarts ! You must learn how. But I don't believe 
 you ever could. Of course we had manners enough not 
 to take as much as we wanted. I want to tell you some 
 more things about him. But wait till I come. He 's 
 most as old as you are, and is always a laughing, the 
 same as you are. 
 
 Ask mother what I told you. Take her at her clever 
 est, and don't eat up all the sweet apples. 
 
 From your brother, 
 
 DORRY. 
 
 P. S. Put some away in meal to mellow. Don't 
 mellow 'em with your knuckles. 
 
 Mrs. Baker, I imagine, was not particularly fond of boys. 
 She gave her permission, however, for Dorry to bring a 
 " muddy-shoed " companion home with him, as we see by the 
 following letter from William Henry to his grandmother. 
 
 A Letter from William Henry. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 Dorry asked his sister to ask his mother if he might 
 ask me to go home with him. And she said yes ; but to 
 wait a week first, because the house was just got ready 
 to have a great party, and she could n't stand two muddy- 
 shoed boys. May I go ? 
 
 Tom Cush was sent home ; but he did n't go. His 
 father lives in the same town that Dorry does. He has 
 been here to look for him. 
 
 I never went to make anybody a visit. I hope you 
 will say yes. I should like to have some money. Ev-
 
 60 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 erybody tells boys not to spend money ; but if they knew 
 how many things boys want, and everything tasted so 
 good, I believe they would spend money themselves. 
 Please write soon. 
 
 From your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRT. 
 
 To this short letter Grandmother sent at once the follow 
 ing reply ; and in the succeeding letters from William Henry 
 we get a pretty good idea of what sort of people Dorry's folks 
 were, and also hear something about Tom Cush. 
 
 Grandmother s Second Letter. 
 
 MY DEAR EOT, 
 
 Do you have clothes enough on your bed ? Ask for 
 an extra blanket. I do hope you will take care of your 
 self. When the rain beats against the windows, I think, 
 " Now who will see that he stands at the fire and dries 
 himself? And you 're very apt to hoarse up nights. 
 We are willing you should go to see Dorry. Your uncle 
 J. has been past his father's place, and he says there 's 
 been a pretty sum of money laid out there. Behave well. 
 Wear your best clothes. Your aunt Phebe has bought 
 a book for her girls that tells them how to behave. It is 
 for boys too, or for anybody. I shall give you a little 
 advice, and mix some of the book in with it. 
 
 Never interrupt. Some children are always putting 
 themselves forward when grown people are talking. Put 
 " sir " or " ma'am " to everything you say. Make a bow 
 when introduced. If you don't know how, try it at a 
 looking-glass. Black your shoes, and toe out if you pos-
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 61 
 
 sibly can. I hope you know enough to say " Thank you," 
 and when to say it. Take your hat off, without fail, and 
 step softly, and wipe your feet. 
 
 Be sure and have some woman look at you before you 
 start, to see that you are all right. Behave properly 
 at table. The best way will be to watch and see how 
 others do. But don't stare. There is a way of looking 
 without seeming to look. A sideways way. 
 
 Anybody with common sense will soon learn how to 
 conduct properly ; and even if you should make a mis 
 take, when trying to do your best, it is n't worth while to 
 feel very much ashamed. Wrong actions are the ones to 
 be ashamed of. And let me say now, once for all, never 
 be ashamed because your father is a farmer and works 
 with his hands. Your father 's a man to be proud of; 
 he is kind to the poor ; he is pleasant in his family ; he 
 is honest in his business ; he reads high kind of books ; 
 he 's a kind, noble Christian man ; and Dorry's father 
 can't be more than all this, let him own as much property 
 as he may. 
 
 I mention this because young folks are apt to think a 
 great deal more of a man that has money. 
 
 Your aunt Phebe wants to know if you won't write 
 home from Dorry's, because her Matilda wants a stamp 
 from that post-office. If the colt brings a very good 
 price, you may get a very good answer to your riddle. 
 From your loving 
 
 GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 P. S. Take your overcoat on your arm. When you 
 come away, bid good by, and say that you have had a 
 good time. If you have had, not without.
 
 62 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 William Henry's Reply. 
 
 DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I am here. The master let us off yesterday noon, and 
 we got here before supper, and this is Saturday night, and 
 I have minded all the things that you said. I got all 
 ready and went down to the Two Betseys to let some 
 woman look at me, as you wrote. They put on both their 
 spectacles and looked me all over, and picked off some 
 dirt-specks, and made me gallus up one leg of my trousers 
 shorter, and make some bows, and then walk across the 
 room slow. 
 
 They thought I looked beautiful, only my hair was too 
 long. Lame Betsey said she used to be the beater for 
 cutting hair, and she tied her apron round my throat, and 
 brought a great pair of shears out, that she used to go 
 a-tailoring with. The Other Betsey, she kept watch to 
 see when both sides looked even. 
 
 Lame Betsey tried very hard. First she stood off to 
 look, and then she stood on again. She said her mother 
 used to keep a quart-bowl on purpose to cut her boys' 
 hairs with ; she clapped it over their heads, and then 
 clipped all round by it even. The shears were jolly 
 shears, only they could n't stop themselves easy, and the 
 apron had been where snuff was, and made me sneeze in 
 the wrong place. Says I, " If you '11 only take off this 
 apron, I '11 jump up and shake myself out even." I 'm so 
 glad I 'm a boy. Aprons are horrid. So are apron- 
 strings, Dorry says. 
 
 They gave me a few peppermints, and said to be sure 
 not to run my head out and get it knocked off in the
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 cars, and not to get out till we stopped going, and to be 
 ware of pickpockets. 
 
 O, we did have a jolly ride in the cars ! Do you think 
 my father would let me be the boy that sells papers in 
 the cars? I wish he would. I did n't see any pick 
 pockets. We got out two miles before we got there. I 
 mean to the right station. For Dorry wanted to make 
 his sister Maggie think we had n't come. 
 
 We took a short cut through the fields. Not very short. 
 And went through everything. My best clothes too. But 
 I guess 't will all rub off. There were some boggy places. 
 
 When we came out at Dorry's house, it was in the
 
 64 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 back yard. I said to Dorry, " There '& your mother on 
 the doorstep. She looks clever." 
 
 Dorry said, " She ? She 's the cook. I '11 tell mother 
 of that. No, I won't neither." 
 
 I suppose he saw I 'd rather he would n't. The cook 
 said everybody had gone out. Then Dorry took me into 
 a jolly great room and left me. Three kinds of curtains 
 to every window ! What 's the use of that ? Gilt spots on 
 the paper, and gilt things hanging down from up above. 
 A good many kinds of chairs. I was going to sit down, 
 but they kept sinking in. Everything sinks in here. I 
 tried three, and this made me laugh, for I seemed to my 
 self like the little boy that went to the bears' house and 
 tried their chairs, and their beds, and their bowls of milk. 
 Then I came to a looking-glass big enough for the very big 
 gest bear. I thought I would make some bows before it, as 
 you said. I was afraid I could n't make a bow and toe 
 out at the same time. Because it is hard to think up 
 and down both at once. While I was trying to, I heard 
 a little noise, I looked round, and what do you think? 
 Bears ? no. Not bears. A queen and a princess, I 
 thought. All over bright colors and feathers and shiny 
 silks. The queen that 's Dorry's mother you know, 
 could n't think who I was, because they had been to 
 the depot, and thought we had n't come. So she looked 
 at me hard, and I suppose I was very muddy. And she 
 said, " Were you sent of an errand here ? " Before 1 
 could make up any answer, Dorry came in. He had 
 some cake, and he passed it round with a very sobef 
 face. Then he introduced me, and I made quite a good 
 bow, and said, " Very well, I thank you, ma'am."
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 65 
 
 I tried to pull my feet behind me, and wished I was sit 
 ting down, for she kept looking towards them ; and I 
 wanted to sit down on the lounge, but I was afraid 
 't would n't bear. She was quite glad to see Dorry. But 
 did n't hug him very hard. I know why. Because she 
 had those good things on. Dorry's grandmother lives 
 here. She can't bear to hear a door slam. She wears 
 her black silk dress every day. And her best cap too. 
 'T is a stunner of a cap. White as anything. And a 
 good deal of white strings to it. Everything makes her 
 head ache. I'd a good deal rather have you. When 
 boys come nigh, she puts her hand out to keep them off. 
 This is because the has nerves. Dorry says his mother 
 has 'em sometimes. I like his father. Because he talks 
 to me some. But he 's very tired. His office tires him. 
 He is n't a very big man. He does n't laugh any. If 
 Maggie was a boy she 'd be jolly. She '11 fly kites, or 
 anything, if her mother is n't looking. Her mother don't 
 seem a bit like Aunt Phebe. I don't believe she could 
 lift a tea-kettle. Not a real one. When she catches 
 hold of her fork, she sticks her little finger right up in 
 the air. She makes very pretty bows to the company. 
 Sinks way down, almost out of sight. She gave us a 
 dollar to spend ; was n't she clever ? Dorry says she 
 likes him tip-top. If he '11 only keep out of the way. 
 
 I guess I 'd rather live at our house. About every 
 room in this house is too good for a boy. But I tell you 
 they have tip-top things here. Great pictures and silver 
 dishes ! Now, I '11 tell you what I mean to do when I 'm a 
 man. I shall have a great nice house like this, and nice 
 things in it But the folks shall be like our folks. I
 
 66 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 shall have horses, and a good many silver dishes. And 
 great pictures, and gilt books for children that come 
 a-visiting. And you shall have a blue easy-chair, and sit 
 down to rest. 
 
 Now, maybe you '11 say, " But, Billy, Billy, where are 
 you going to get all these fine things?" O you silly 
 grandmother ! Don't you remember your own saying 
 that you wrote down ? " What a man wants he can 
 get, if he tries hard enough." Or a boy either, you said. 
 I shall try hard enough. There 's more to write about. 
 But I 'm sleepy. I would tell you about Tom Gush's 
 father coming here, only my eyes can't keep open. Is n't 
 it funny that when you are sleepy your eyes keep shut 
 ting up and your mouth keeps coming open ? Please 
 excuse the lines that go crooked. There 's another gape ! 
 I guess Aunt Phebe will be tired reading all this I 'm 
 on her side. I mean about measles. I 'd rather have 
 'em when I was a month old. I suppose I was a month 
 old once. Don't seem as if 't was the same one I am 
 now. But if I do have 'em, there I go gaping again> 
 if I catch 'em, and all the doctors do come, I '11 O 
 dear ! There I go again. I do believe I 'm asleep 
 I '11 I '11 get some natural-born old woman to drive 'em 
 out, as you said, and good night. 
 
 WILLIAM HENEY. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I am back again, and had a good time ; but came back 
 hungry. I '11 tell you why. The first time I sat down 
 to table I felt bashful, and Dorry's mother said a great 
 deal about my having a small appetite, and afterwards I 
 did n't like to make her think it was a large one.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 67 
 
 I guess I behaved quite well at the table. But I 
 could n't look the way you said. It made me feel squint- 
 eyed. Once I almost laughed at table. The day they 
 had roast duck, it smelt nice. I thought it would n't 
 go round, for they had company besides me ; and I said, 
 " No, I thank you, ma'am." Dorry whispered to me, 
 *' You must be a goose not to love duck " ; and that was 
 when I almost laughed at table. His grandmother shook 
 her head at him. 
 
 Now I '11 tell about Tom Cush's father. That Sat 
 urday, when we were eating dinner, somebody came to 
 the front door, and inquired for us two, Dorry and me. 
 It was Tom Cush's father. He wanted to ask us about 
 Tom, and whether we knew anything about him. But 
 we knew no more than he did. lie talked some with us. 
 The next evening, Sunday evening, Tom Cush's 
 mother sent for Dorry and me to come and see her. His 
 father came after us. She said they wanted to know 
 more about what I wrote to you in those letters. 
 
 O, I don't want ever again to go where the folks are 
 so sober. The room was just as still as anything, not 
 much light burning, and great curtains hanging way 
 down, and she looked like a sick woman. Just as pale ! 
 Only sometimes she stood up and walked, and then sat 
 down again, and leaned way forward, and asked a ques 
 tion, and looked into our faces so. We did n't know what 
 to do. Dorry talked more than I could. Tom's father 
 kept just as sober ! He said to Dorry : " It is true, then, 
 that my boy would n't own up to his own actions ? " or 
 something like that. 
 
 Dorry said, " Yes, sir."
 
 68 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Tom's father said, " And he was willing to sit still and 
 see another boy whipped in his place ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," Dorry said. But. he did n't say it very 
 loud. 
 
 Then they stopped asking questions, and not one of us 
 spoke for ever so long. O, 't was so still ! At last Dorry 
 said, just as softly, " Can't you find him anywhere ? " 
 And then I said that I did n't believe he was lost. 
 
 Then Tom's father got up from his chair and said, 
 "Lost? That's not it. That's not it. 'T is his not 
 being honorable ! 'T is his not being true ! Lost ? 
 Why, he was lost before he left the school." Says he : 
 " When he did a mean thing, then he lost himself. For 
 he lost his truth. He lost his honor. There 's nothing 
 left worth having when they are gone." 
 
 O, I never saw Dorry so sober as he was that night 
 going home. And when we went to bed, he hardly spoke 
 a word, and did n't throw pillows, or anything. I shut 
 my eyes up tight and thought about you all at home, and 
 Aunt Phebe, and Aunt Phebe's little Tommy, and about 
 school, and about Bubby Short, and all the time Tom's 
 mother's eyes kept looking at me just as they did ; and 
 when I was asleep I seemed back again in that lonesome 
 room, and they two sitting there. 
 
 From your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRT. 
 
 P. S. I want to tell that when I was at Dorry's I let 
 a little vase fall down and break. I did n't think it was 
 so rotten. I felt sorry ; but did n't say so ; I did n't 
 know how to say it very well. I wish grown-up folks
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 69 
 
 would know that boys feel sorry very often when they 
 don't say so, and sometimes they think about doing right, 
 too. And mean to, but don't tell of it. Next time I 
 shall tell about Bubby Short and me going to ride in 
 Gapper's donkey-cart. He 's going to lend it to us. I 
 
 should like to buy them a new vase. 
 
 W. H. 
 
 P. S. Benjie 's had a letter, and one twin fell down 
 stairs. 
 
 There is one sentence in the first paragraph of the follow 
 ing letter which reminds me of a very windy day, when I 
 was staying at Summer Sweeting place. 
 
 In returning from a walk, by a short cut across the field, 
 I met a boy who was running just about as fast as he could. 
 
 Soon after I came to another and much smaller boy, who 
 was not running at all, but was sitting flat upon the ground, 
 under a tree, and crying with might and main. This smaller 
 boy proved to be Tommy. On a branch of the tree, just out 
 of his reach, hung a broom, towards which his weeping eyes 
 were turned in despair. A paper of peanuts which I hap 
 pened to have soon quieted him, because, in order to crack 
 them, he had to shut his mouth. At the first of it, however, 
 he went on with his crying while picking out the meats, which 
 so amused me that I was obliged to turn aside and laugh. 
 
 It appeared that Tommy had been riding horseback on his 
 mother's broom " to see Billy," and when he had made believe 
 get there, he wanted to hitch his horse. A larger boy, out 
 of mischief, or rather in mischief, bent down a branch of the 
 tree, telling Tommy there was a tiptop thing to tie up to. 
 He helped Tommy to tie the horse to the branch, and then 
 ran off across the field. It is very plain what happened when 
 the branch sprang back to its place.
 
 70 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 I unhitched the animal, and then Tommy and I mounted it, 
 he behind me, and away we cantered to the house, my 
 amazing gallops causing the little chap to laugh as loudly as 
 he had cried. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 Please to tell my sister I am much obliged to her for 
 picking up that old iron for me. But that old rusty 
 fire-shovel handle, I guess that will not do to put in 
 again. For my father said, the last time, that he had 
 bought that old fire-shovel handle half a dozen times. 
 But Aunt Phebe's Tommy, he pulls it out again to ride 
 horseback .on. 
 
 I know a little girl just about as big as my sister, 
 named Rosy. Maybe that is not her name. Maybe it 
 is, because her face is so rosy. She had a lamb. And 
 she 's lost it. It ate out of her hand, and it followed her. 
 It was a pet lamb. But it 's lost. Gapper came up to 
 inquire about it. Mr. Augustus wrote a notice and 
 nailed it on to the Liberty Pole, and then Dorry chalked 
 out a white lamb on black pasteboard, and painted a 
 blue ribbon around its neck, and hung that up there too. 
 
 Gapper let Bubby Short and me have his donkey -cart 
 to go to ride in. He kicked up when we licked him, and 
 broke something. But a man came by and mended it. 
 So we did n't get back till after dark. But the master 
 did n't say anything after we told the reason why. Did 
 you ever see a ghost ? Do you believe they can whistle ? 
 I '11 tell you what I ask such a question for. 
 
 There is an old house, and part of it is torn down, and 
 nobody lives in it. It is built close to where the woods
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 71 
 
 begin. The boys say there is a ghost in it. I '11 tell you 
 why. They say that if anybody goes by there whistling, 
 something inside of that house whistles the same tune. 
 Dorry says it 's a jolly old ghost. Mr. Augustus thinks 
 'tis all very silly. Now I'll tell you something. 
 
 The night Bubby Short and I were coming back from 
 taking a ride in Gapper's donkey-cart, we tried it. We 
 did n't dare to lick him again, for fear he would kick up, 
 so we rode just as slow ! and it was a lonesome road, 
 but the moon was shining bright. 
 
 Says Bubby Short, " Do you believe that 's the honey 
 moon ? " 
 
 " No," says I. " That 's what shines when a man is 
 married to his wife." 
 
 " Are you scared of ghosts ? " said Bubby Short. 
 
 " Can't tell till I see one," says I. 
 
 " How far off do you suppose they can see a fellow ? 
 says he. 
 
 Says I, " I don't know. They can see best in the 
 dark." 
 
 " Do you think they 'd hurt a fellow ?" says he 
 
 " Maybe," says I. *' There 's the old house." 
 
 " I know it," says he ; "I 've been looking at it.' 
 
 Says I, " Are you scared to whistle ? " 
 
 " Scared ! No," says he. " Let 's whistle, I say." 
 
 " Well," says I, you whistle first." 
 
 " No," says he, " you whistle first." 
 
 " Let him whistle first," says I. 
 
 " He won't do it. Ghosts never whistle first," says he 
 
 I asked him who said that, and he said 't was Dorry. 
 
 Then I said, " Let 's whistle together."
 
 72 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 So we waited till we almost got past, and then whis 
 tled " Yankee Doodle." And, grandmother, it did, it 
 whistled it. 
 
 Bubby Short whispered, " Lick him a little." 
 
 Then I whispered back, " 'T won't do to. If I do, he 
 won't go any." 
 
 But in a minute he began to go faster of his own 
 accord. He heard somebody ahead calling. It was 
 Gapper, coming to see what the matter was that kept us 
 so late. Now what do you think about it ? 
 
 From your affectionate 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. My boots leak. Shall I get them tapped, or 
 get a new pair, or throw them away, or else keep the 
 
 legs to make new boots of? 
 
 W. H. 
 
 Here we have William Henry trying his hand at story 
 telling. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 Sometimes Dorry writes stories in his letters for his 
 sister, just as he tells them to her, talking, at home. 
 Now I '11 write one for my sister, and I '11 call it by a 
 name. I '11 call it 
 
 THE STORY OF THE GREAT STORM. 
 
 Once there was a little boy named Billy, and Gapper 
 lent him his donkey to go ride. That 's me, you know". 
 Next day Gapper came and said, "You boys lost my 
 whip." Now I remembered having the whip when we
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 73 
 
 crept in among the bushes, for we got sight of a wood- 
 chuck, and came near finding his hole. So when school 
 was done at noon, I asked leave to put some bread and 
 meat in my pocket, instead of eating any dinner, and go 
 to look for Gapper's whip. And he said I might. 'T was 
 two miles off. But I found it. And I dug for a good 
 deal of saxifax-root. And picked lots of boxberry- 
 plums. 
 
 And I never noticed how the sky looked, till I heard a 
 noise something like thunder. It was very much like 
 thunder. Almost just like it. I thought it was thunder. 
 Only it sounded a great ways off. I was walking along 
 slow, snapping my whip and eating my dinner, for I 
 thought I would n't hurry for thunder, when something 
 hard dropped down close to me. Then another dropped, 
 and then another. And they kept dropping. I picked 
 one up and found they were hail-stones, and they were 
 bigger than bullets. 
 
 It kept growing dark, and the hailstones came thicker, 
 and hit me in the face. Then they began to pour right 
 down, and I ran. They beat upon me just like a driving 
 storm all of sharp stones. The horses and cows cut 
 across the fields like mad. The horses flung up their 
 heads. I was almost to that old house and ran for that, 
 and kicked the door through to get in, for I thought I 
 should be killed with the hail. The shingles off the roof 
 were flying about ; and when I got inside, 't was awful. 
 I thought to be sure the roof would be beat in. Such a 
 noise ! It sounded just exactly as if a hundred cartloads 
 of stones were being tipped up on to the roof. And then 
 the window-glass ! It was worse than being out doors, for 
 
 4
 
 74 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 the window-glass was flying criss-cross about the room, 
 like fury, all mixed up with the hail. I crouched down 
 all in a bunch and put my arms over my head, and so 
 tried to save myself. But then I spied a closet door a 
 crack open, and I jumped in there. And there I sat all 
 bent over with my hands up to my ears, and thought, O, 
 what would become of me if the old house should go? 
 And now the strangest part is coming. You see 't was a 
 pretty deep closet School-bell ! I did n't think 't was 
 half time for that to ding. I '11 tell the rest next time. 
 Should you care if I brought home Dorry to make a 
 visit ? He wants to bad. 'T would be jolly if Bubby 
 Short went too. 
 
 From your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 Everybody 's been setting glass. Counting the house 
 and the schoolhouse, and the panes set over the barn 
 door, and four squares in the hen-house, we had to set 
 four hundred and twenty-three squares. The express 
 man has brought loads and loads. All the great boys 
 helped set. We slept one night with bedquilts and rugs 
 hung up to the windows. The master tried to shut his 
 blind in the storm, but the hail drove him in, and he 
 could n't even shut down his window again. A rich man 
 has given to the Two Betseys better windows than they 
 had before. Now I will tell about my being in that 
 closet. 
 
 When it began to grow stiller, I took my hands down 
 from my ears, and one hand when it came down touched
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 75 
 
 something soft. Quite soft and warm. I jumped off 
 rrom it in a hurry. Then I heard a kind of bleating 
 noise, and a little faint " ba'a ba'a." But now comes the 
 very strangest part. Farther back in the closet I heard 
 somebody move, somebody step. I was scared, and gave 
 the door a push, to let the light in. Now who do you 
 think was there ? Aunt Phebe must stop reading and 
 let you guess. But maybe you 're reading yourself. 
 Then stop and guess. 'T was n't a ghost. 'T was n't 
 a man. 'T was n't a woman. 'T was Tom Gush ! and 
 Rosy's lamb ! 
 
 Says he, "William Henry!" Says I, "Tom!" 
 Then we walked out into the room, and O, what a sight! 
 Says I, " I thought 't was going to be the end of the old 
 house." 
 
 Says Tom, " I thought 't was going to be the end of 
 the world." 
 
 In the corners the hailstones were heaped up in great 
 banks. You might have shovelled up barrels full. Most 
 of them were the size of bird's eggs. But some were 
 bigger. Then we looked out doors. The ground was 
 all white, and drifts in every cornering place, and the 
 leaves stripped off the trees. Then we looked at one 
 another, and he was just as pale as anything. He leaned 
 against the wall, and I guessed he was crying. To see 
 uch a great boy crying seemed most as bad as the hail- 
 torm. Maybe he did n't cry. When he turned his 
 head round again, says he : " Billy, I 'm sick, and what 
 shall I do ? " 
 
 " Go home," says I. 
 
 " No," says he, " I won't go home. And if you let
 
 76 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 'em know, I '11 " And then he picked up Gapper's 
 whip, "I '11 flog you." 
 
 " Flog away," says I ; " maybe I shall, and maybe I 
 sha' n't." 
 
 He dropped the whip down, and says he, " Billy, I 
 sha' n't ever touch you. But they must n't know till I 'm 
 gone to sea." 
 
 I asked him when he was going. And he told me all 
 about it. 
 
 When he was sent away from school, he went into 
 town and inquired about the wharves for a chance to go, 
 and got one, and came back to get some things he left 
 bid in the old house, and to wait till 't was time to go. 
 He sold his watch, and bought a great bag full of hard 
 bread and cheese and cakes. 
 
 He was mad at Gapper for setting a man to watch, 
 and so he took Rosy's lamb. He was going to kill it. 
 And then skin it. But he could n't do it. It licked his 
 hand, and looked up so sorryful, he could n't do it. And 
 when he cut his foot he cut it chopping something. 
 That 's why he stayed there so long. And he was the 
 ghost that whistled. He knew the fellows would n't 
 go in to see what it was that whistled. And he ate 
 up most all his things, and tied a string to the lamb, 
 and let it out nights to eat grass, and then pulled it in 
 again." 
 
 I would n't have stayed there so for anything. He 
 went into town three times, nights, to get victuals to eat. 
 I don't see what he wants to be such a kind of a boy for. 
 He says he means to go to sea, and if ever he 's good 
 he's going home. I told him about his father and
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 77 
 
 mother, and he walked while I was talking, and kept his 
 back towards me. I asked him what ailed him, and he 
 said 'twas partly cutting him, and partly sleeping cold 
 nights, and partly the crackers and cheese. I gave him 
 the rest of my meat, and he was glad enough. 
 
 He said he was ashamed to go home. 
 
 Now I have got to the end of another sheet of paper. 
 I wish I had u't begun to tell my sister this story. It 
 takes so long. And I want every minute of the time to 
 play in. For 't is getting a little cooler, and a fellow can 
 stand it to run some. The master says it 's good weather 
 for studying. Dorry says he never saw any weather yet 
 good enough for studying. I shall write a very short 
 letter next time, to tell the rest of it. 
 
 From your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. I forgot to put this letter in the office. I guess 
 I will not write any more letters till I go home. I was 
 going to tell more, but I can do it better talking. I went 
 to see Tom Cush the next day, and he had gone. Rosy's 
 got her lamb back again. But her flower-garden was 
 killed by the hail. Not one leaf left. She found her 
 lamb on the doorstep, waiting to get in. 
 
 We have next a letter from Aunt Phebe, a dear, good- 
 hearted woman, who took almost a mother's interest in 
 William Henry. Indeed, I have heard her remark, that she 
 hardly knew any difference between her feelings for him and 
 ibr her own children. 
 
 Some of her letters will be found to contain good advice, 
 given in a very amusing way.
 
 78 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Letter from Aunt Phebe. 
 DEAR BILLY, 
 
 You rogue, you ! I meant to have written before. 
 You 've frightened us all to pieces with your ghost that 
 was n't a ghost, and your whipping that was n't a whip 
 ping, and your measles that you did n't have. Grand 
 mother may talk, but she's losing her memory. You 
 were red as a beet with 'em. As if I did n't carry you 
 about all night and go to sleep walking ! 
 
 Grandmother says, " Yes, indeed ! bring Dorry, and let 
 him stay a week if he wants to." Bless her soul ! She '11 
 always keep her welcome warm, so never mind her mem 
 ory. And Bubby Short, too. Pray bring Bubby Short. 
 I want to see his black eyes shine. Don't Benjie want 
 to come ? I 've got beds enough, and girls enough to 
 work, and a great batch of poor mince-pies that I want 
 eaten up. Don't see how I came to make such a miss in 
 my pies this baking. Your uncle J. thinks I skiuched on 
 plums. There never was such a man for plums. I do 
 believe if they were put into his biscuits he 'd think he 'd 
 got no more than his rights. 
 
 Your uncle J. says : " Tell the boys to come on. I 've 
 got apples to gather, and husking to do." They 'd better 
 bring some old clothes to wear. This is such a tearing 
 place. I 've put my Tommy into jacket and trousers. 
 He used to hitch his clothes upon every rail. Such a 
 climber ! I don't know what that boy '11 be when he 
 grows up. 
 
 I send you a good warm comforter, knit in stripes ; and 
 all the family are knit into it, especially Tommy. The
 
 THE WILLIAM HKNEVT LETTERS. 79 
 
 pink stripes are his good-boy days, and (he black ones are 
 his naughty actions. I showed him where I knit 'em in. 
 That clouded gray and black stripe is for my two great 
 girls quarrelling together about whose work 't was to do 
 some little trifle. I told 'em they should be knit in, big as 
 they are, if they could n't behave and be accommodating. 
 That bright red stripe is for Hannah Jane's school report, 
 all perfect. That blue stripe is for your sister Georgian- 
 na when she made a sheet. It matches her eyes a near 
 as I could get the yarn. My blue dye is weak this fall. 
 Indigo is high. Your uncle J. says it 's on accountof the 
 Rebs feeling so blue. That gray stripe, dotted with yel 
 low, means a funny crying spell Tommy had at table. 1 
 came home, and there he eat in his high chair, with his 
 two hands on the arms of it, his mouth wide open, eyes 
 shut, and the tears streaming down, making the dolefullest 
 noise, " O-oh, a-ah ; o-oh, a-ah." Lucy Maria said 
 lie 'd been going on in that strain almost half an hour, 
 because we did n't have mince-meat for supper. That 
 green stripe is for the day we all took the hay-cart and 
 went to ride in the woods. The orange-colored one is 
 for the box of oranges your uncle J. fetched home. "A 
 waste of mon; ," says I. " Please the children," says he ; 
 " and the peel will save spice." Makes me laugh when 
 your uncle J. sets out to save. My girls and Tommy 
 have got the very best of fathers, only they don't realize it. 
 But young folks can't realize. The pale rose-colored stripe 
 is for the travelling doctor's curing your grandmother's 
 rheumatics, and promising she never should have another 
 touch of 'em if she was careful. The dark red stripe is 
 for the red cow's getting choked to death with a turnip,
 
 80 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 She was a prime butter cow. Any man but your uncle 
 J. would look sober for a month about it. But he says, 
 "O, there's butter enough in the world, Phebe. And 
 the calf will soon be a cow on its own hook." That 's 
 your uncle J. 
 
 The plain dark purple stripe is for my Matilda's speak 
 ing disrespectfully to grandmother. She was sorry 
 enough afterwards, but I told her it should go in. That 
 bright yellow stripe is for the day your father went to 
 market and got snch sc great price for his colt. The 
 bright fringe, mixed colors, is for us all in both houses, 
 when we got news of your coming home, and felt so glad. 
 There *s a stitch dropped in one place. That may go for a 
 tear-drop, a tear of mine, dear, if you please. Do you 
 think we grown-up women, we jolly, busy women, never 
 shed tears? O, but we do sometimes, in an out-of-the-way 
 corner, or when the children are all gone to school, or 
 everybody is in bed. Bitterer tears they are, Billy, than 
 boys* tears. One more stripe, that plain white one in 
 the centre, is for the little Tommy that died. I conld n't 
 bear to leave him out, Billy. He had such little loving 
 ways. You don't remember him. 
 
 There 's your uncle J.'s whistle. He T ways whistles 
 when he gets to the bars, to let me know it 's time to 
 begin to take up dinner. 
 
 From your loving 
 
 AUNT PHEBE. 
 
 I will insert here two of Dorry Baker's letters to his siste* 
 When they were written Dorry and Bubby Short were mak 
 ing William Henry a visit.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 81 
 
 Dorry to his Sister. 
 DEAR Sis, 
 
 Who 's been giving you an inch, that you take so many 
 " 1's " ? Or is father putting an " L " to his house, or 
 some great " LL. D." been dining there, or what is the 
 matter, that about every " 1 " in your letter comes double ? 
 I would n't spell " painful " with two " 1's " if the pain 
 was ever so bad. But I know. You are thinking about 
 Billy and the good times we are having. Aunt Phebe 
 says you might have come too, just as well as not ; for her 
 family is so big, three or four more don't make a mite of 
 difference. 
 
 We got here last night. Billy's grandmothei 's a brick. 
 She took Billy right in her arms, and I do l V;lieve she 
 cried for being glad, behind her spectacles. *TiS sister is 
 full as pretty as you. Billy brought her a ^und comb. 
 Aunt Phebe's little Tommy 's as fat as but^r. He sat 
 and sucked his thumb and stared, till Bill" held out a 
 whistle to him, and then he walked up and took it, as 
 sober as a judge. 
 
 " And I 've brought you something, Grandmother," says 
 Billy. 
 
 He went out and brought in a bandbox v ; ed up. I 
 wondered, coming in the cars, what he had g^t t'*^ up in 
 that bandbox. He out with his jackknife, and ^it the 
 strings, and took out have you guessed yet ? Of Bourse 
 you have n't, took out a new cap like grandma', 6 - He 
 stuck his fist in it, and turned it round and round, '~o let 
 her see it. 
 
 " Now sit down," says he, " and we '11 try it on." 
 4* F
 
 82 
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 She would n't, but he made her. 
 
 " Come here, Dorry," says he, " and see which is the 
 front side of this." 
 
 When her old cap was pulled off, there was her gray 
 hair all soft and crinkly. He got the cap part way on. 
 
 " You tip it down too much," says I. 
 
 " We '11 turn it round," says he. 
 
 "'Tis upside down," said Billy's father. 
 
 " Now 't is one-sided," says Uncle J., " like the colt's 
 blinders." 
 
 " 'T was never meant for my head," says Grand 
 mother. 
 
 " Send for Phebe," says Uncle J.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 83 
 
 But " Phebe " was coming. There was a great chat 
 tering outside, and the door opened, and in came Aunt 
 Phebe, laughing, and her three great girls laughing too, 
 with their red cheeks, and their great braids of hair tied 
 up in red bow-knots of ribbon. And they all went to kiss 
 ing Billy. 
 
 And then says Aunt Phebe, " What in the world are 
 you doing to your grandmother ? A regular milliner's 
 cap, if I breathe ! Well done, Grandmother ! Here, let 
 me give it a twist. It 's hind side before. What do 
 boys know ? or men either ? What are all these kinds 
 of strings for ? " 
 
 " The great ones to hang down, and the little ones to 
 tie up," says Billy. 
 
 The girls stood by to pick the bows apart, and fuzz up 
 the ruffles where they were smashed in ; and Billy's 
 father and Uncle Jacob, they sat and laughed. 
 
 Grandmother could n't help herself, but she kept say 
 ing, " Now, Phebe ! now, girls ! now, Billy ! " 
 
 " And now, grandmother!" says Aunt Phebe. " There! 
 fold your hands together. Don't lean back hard, 't will 
 jam easy. Now see, girls ! Is n't she a beauty ? " And, 
 Maggie, I do believe she 's the prettiest grandmother 
 there is going. Her face is just as round and smiling ! 
 
 "Now sit still, Grandmother," said Aunt Phebe. And 
 she winked to the girls, and they whisked fwo tables up 
 together, spread on the cloth, set on the dishes ; then out 
 into the entry, and brought in great loaves of plum-cake, 
 and pies and doughnuts, and set out the table, all done 
 while you 'd be tying your shoe. Then they set a row 
 of lights along the middle, and we all sat round, Grand-
 
 84 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 mother at the head, and Aunt Phebe's little Tommy in 
 his high chair ; and I '11 tell you what, if these are poor 
 mince-pies, I hope I shall never see any good ones. 
 
 " Why did n't you have some fried eggs ? " said Uncle 
 Jacob. 
 
 " Now did anybody ever hear the like ? " said Aunt 
 Phebe. " Fried eggs ! when they 're shedding their 
 feathers, and it takes seventy-six fowls to lay a dozen, 
 and every egg is worth its weight in currency ! Better 
 ask why we don't have cranberry sauce ! " 
 
 " There ! " says Uncle J. " I declare, if I did n't for 
 get that errand, after all ! " 
 
 " When I told you to keep paying over ' Cranberries, 
 cranberries,' all the way going along ! " says Aunt 
 Phebe. 
 
 " They would 'a' set my teeth on edge before I got to 
 Ne'miah's corner," said Uncle J. " The very thoughts 
 of 'em is enough. Lucy Maria, please to pass that 
 frosted cake. I declare, I 'm sorry I forgot that 
 errand." 
 
 For all we were so hungry, there was a great deal 
 left, and I was glad to see it going into Billy's buttery. 
 Billy says it's just like his aunt Phebe to come to sup 
 per, and make that an excuse to bring enough to last a 
 week, to save Grandmother steps. 
 
 I do like to stay where folks are jolly. They keep me 
 a-laughing ; and as for Bubby Short, his little black eyes 
 have settled themselves into a twinkle, and there they 
 etay. I never had such a good time in my life. 
 From your same old brother, 
 
 DORKY.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 85 
 
 P. S. We have got good times enough planned out 
 to last a mouth. Uncle J. says we may have his old 
 horse, and Young Gray, and Dobbin, and the cow too, if 
 we want, to ride horseback on, or tackle up into anything 
 we can find, from a hay-cart to a wheelbarrow. I shall 
 want to write, but sha' n't. There '11 be no time. When 
 I get home, I '11 talk a week. 
 
 Love to all inquiring friends. 
 
 Maggie could have formed but little idea of the nature of 
 the offer mentioned in Dorry's postscript, because she had 
 never, at that time, stood on the spot and seen with her own 
 eyes all the " wheel-ed things " that were to be seen in 
 Uncle Jacob's back-yard. 
 
 How gladly would I, if space permitted, go into a minute 
 description of that roomy enclosure, with its farming imple 
 ments, garden tools, cattle, pump, fowls, watering-trough, 
 grindstone, woodpile, haystack, etc., and carryalls, carts, 
 wagons, wheelbarrows, roller-carts, and tip-carts, some in 
 good repair, others very far out of it ! " Entertainment for 
 man and beast" might truly have been written over the 
 entrance ! 
 
 Mother Delight (an old nurse-woman) once remarked of 
 Uncle Jacob, that he was a very buying man. This was a 
 true remark, and yet he never bought without a reason. 
 For instance, if Quorm (a Corry Pond Indian) brought bushel- 
 baskets along to sell, Uncle Jacob took one, not because 
 he had not bushel-baskets enough, but to encourage Quorm. 
 And if Old Pete Brale wanted to let Uncle Jacob have an 
 infirm, rickety wagon, and take his pay in potatoes, Uncle 
 Jacob traded, that Pete Brale might be kept from starvation. 
 And so of other things. 
 
 It may be imagined, therefore, that as time went on all 
 manner of vehicles were there gathered together. Some of
 
 86 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 these were in good running order, while others had been 
 bought partly with a view to their being repaired and sold at 
 a profit. The expression on Aunt Phebe's face when Uncle 
 Jacob brought home an addition to his interesting collection 
 was very striking. I remember particularly observing this at 
 the coming into harbor of a rattling, shackly, green-bottomed 
 carryall, which had a door at the back, and seats running 
 lengthwise. It formerly belonged to some person who, having 
 then a large family of small children to get to meeting, con 
 trived a conveyance which would take in and discharge again 
 the greatest number with the least trouble. 
 
 In this odd vehicle, which had been run under an over 
 hanging apple-tree, I often sat through the summer after 
 noon, now reading my book, now watching the animal life 
 about me, gaining useful knowledge from both. Some 
 times, when feeling like a boy again, as I often did and do 
 feel, I would amuse myself with playing go to ride in a comi 
 cal old chaise. It was set high, and pitched forward, the lining 
 was ragged, the back "light" gone, the stuffing running out 
 of the cushions ; yet there I liked to sit, and " ride," and joggle 
 up and down, as in the happy days of boyhood. But not, as 
 in those happy days, " hard as I could," for reasons easy to 
 guess. 
 
 I trust no one will imagine that spacious yard to have been 
 merely a sort of safe anchorage, where all manner of disabled 
 craft might run in for shelter ! Lest any words of mine should 
 imply this, or seem to cast blame on Uncle Jacob, let me 
 hasten to siy that he really required a variety of" wheel-ed 
 things " to carry on his business. 
 
 Neither of the Mr. Carvers got their living wholly, or even 
 chiefly, by farming. They drew wood from lots owned by 
 themselves, or by o'hers, and used their teams in any way, 
 according as employment was offered them. Thus heavy 
 carts were wanted for heavy work, and light carts for light
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 87 
 
 work, besides carryalls for dry and for rainy weather, and 
 riding wagons, because they were handy. 
 
 For all the Summer Sweeting folks were hard workers, 
 they knew how to get up a good time, and enjoyed it too, as 
 we shall see by the account of one which Dorry gives in the 
 following letter : 
 
 Dorry to his Sister. 
 DEAR Sis, 
 
 O, we 've hurrahed and hurrahed and hurrahed our 
 selves hoarse ! Such a bully time ! You 'd better be 
 lieve the old horses went some ! And that hay-cart went 
 rattle and bump, rattle and thump, seemed as if we 
 should jolt to pieces ! But I've counted myself all over, 
 and believe I 'm all here ! Bubby Short's throat is so 
 sore that all he can do is to lie flat on the floor and wink 
 his eyes. You see we cheered at every house, and they 
 came running to their windows, and some cheered back 
 again, and some waved and some laughed, and all of 
 them stared. But part of the way was through the 
 woods. 
 
 This morning Billy and Bubby Short and I went over 
 to Aunt Pliebe'.s of an errand, to borrow a cup of dough. 
 I wish mother could see how her stove shines! And 
 while we were sitting down there, having some fun with 
 Aunt Phebe's little Tommy, Uncle Jacob came in and 
 <;iid, ' Mother, let 's go somewhere." 
 
 She said, "Thank you ! thank you ! we shall be veiy 
 happy to accept your invitation. Girls, your father has 
 given us an invitation ! Boys, he means you too ! " 
 
 " But you can't go, can you ? " Uncle Jacob cried 
 out, and made believe he did n't know what to make of
 
 88 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 it. 0, he 's such a droll man ! " I thought you could n't 
 leave the ironing," says he. 
 
 " O yes, we can ! " Hannah Jane said ; and " O yes, 
 we can ! " they all cried out. 
 
 Aunt Phebe said it would be entirely convenient, 
 and told her girls to shake out the sprinkled clothes to 
 dry. 
 
 " O, now," said Uncle Jacob, " who 'd have thought 
 of your saying ' yes.' I expected you could n't leave." 
 
 "Then they kept on talking and laughing. O, they 
 are all so funny here ! Uncle Jacob tried to get off 
 without going ; but at last he said, " Well, boys, we 
 must catch Old Major." 
 
 " That 's the old gray horse, you know. And we were 
 long enough about it. For, just as we got him into a 
 corner, he 'd up heels, and away he 'd go. And once 
 he slapped his tail right in my face. But after a while 
 we got him into the barn. 
 
 Then pretty SOOM Uncle Jacob put on a long face, and 
 looked very sober, and put his head in at the back kitch 
 en door, and said he guessed we should have to give 
 up going, after all, for the mate to Old Major had got to 
 be shod, and the blacksmith had gone away. 
 
 " Harness in the colt, then," Aunt Phebe said. " No 
 matter about their matching, if we only get there ! " 
 
 That colt is about twenty years old. He 's black, and 
 short, and takes little stubby steps ; and he 's got a shaggy 
 mane, that goes flop, flop, flop every step he takes. But 
 Old Major is bony, and has a long neck, like the nose of 
 a tunnel. Such a span as they made ! What would my 
 mother say to see that span !
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 89 
 
 They were harnessed in to the hay-cart. A hay-cart 
 is a long cart that has stakes stuck in all round it. We 
 put boards across for benches. Aunt Phebe brought out 
 a whole armful of quite small flags, that they had Inde 
 pendent Day, and we tied one to the end of every 
 stake. 
 
 Such a jolly time as we did have getting aboard ! First 
 all the baskets and pails full of cake and pies were stowed 
 away under the benches, and jugs of water, and bottles 
 of milk, and a hatchet, and some boiled eggs, and apples 
 and pears. Then uncle called out, "Come! where is 
 everybody ? Tumble in 1 tumble iu ! Where 's little 
 Tommy ? " 
 
 Then we began to look about and to call *' Tommy!" 
 " Tommy ! " " Tommy ! " At last Bubby Short said, 
 " There he is, up there 1 " We all looked up, and saw 
 Tommy's face part way through a broken square of glass 
 I mean where the glass was broken out. He said he 
 could n't " turn down, betause the roosted was on his 
 feets." You see, he 'd got his feet tangled up in Lucy 
 Maria's worsteds. 
 
 " O dear ! " Lucy Maria said ; " all that shaded pink ! " 
 
 When they brought him down, Uncle Jacob looked 
 very sober, and said, " Why, Tommy ! Did you get into 
 all that shaded pink?" 
 
 " Did n't get in all of it," said Tommy. Then he told 
 us he was taking down the "gimmerlut to blower a hole 
 with." Next he began to cry for his new hat ; and when 
 he got his new hat, he began to cry for a posy to be 
 stuck in it. That little fellow never will go anywhere 
 without a flower stuck in his hat. Aunt Phebe says his
 
 90 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS 
 
 grandmother began that notion when her dama.-k rose 
 bush was in bloom. 
 
 After we were all aboard, Uncle Jacob brought out the 
 teakettle, and slung it on behind with a rope. He said 
 maybe mother would want a cup of tea. Then they 
 laughed at him, for he is the tea-drinker himself. Next 
 he brought out a long pan. 
 
 " Now that 's my cookie-pan ! " Aunt Phebe said. 
 tt You don't cook clams in my cookie-pan ! " 
 
 He made believe he was terribly afraid of Aunt Phebe, 
 and trotted back with it just like a little boy, and then 
 came bringing out an old sheet-iron fireboard. 
 
 " Is this anybody 's cookie-pan ? ' said he, then stowed 
 it away in the bottom of the cart Bubby Short wanted 
 to know what that was for. 
 
 " That 's for the clams," Uncle Jacob said. 
 
 But we could n't tell whether he meant so. We never 
 can tell whether Uncle Jacob is funning or not. I have n't 
 told you yet where we were bound. We were bound to 
 the shore. That 's about six miles off. The last thing 
 that Uncle Jacob brought out was a stick that had strips 
 of paper tied to the end of it. 
 
 " That 's my flyflapper ! " Aunt Phebe said. " What 
 are you going to do with my flyflapper ? " 
 
 He said that was to brush the snarl-? off little Tommy's 
 face. Tommy is a tip-top little chap; but he 's apt to 
 make a fuss. Sometimes he teased to drive, and then 
 he teased for a drink, and then for a sugar-cracker, and 
 then to sit with Matilda, and then with Hannah Jane. 
 And, every time he fretted, Uncle Jacob would take out 
 the flyflapper, and play brush th snarls off his face, and
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 91 
 
 say, " There they go ! Pick 'em up ! pick 'em up ! '' 
 And that would set Tommy a-laughing. Tommy turn- 
 bled out once, the back end of the cart. Billy was driv 
 ing, and he whipped up quick, and they started ahead, 
 and sent Tommy out the back end, all in a heap. But 
 first he stood on his head, for 't was quite a sandy place. 
 I drove part of the way, and so did Bubby Short. We 
 did n't hurrah any going. Some men that we met would 
 laugh and call out, " What '11 you take for your span ? " 
 And sometimes boys would turn round, and laugh, and 
 holler out, " How are you, tea-kettle ?" I think a hay- 
 cart is the best thing to ride in that ever was. Just as 
 we got through the woods, we looked round and saw 
 Billy's father coming, bringing Billy's grandmother in a 
 horse and chaise. Then we all clapped. For they said 
 they guessed they could n't come. 
 
 When we got to the shore the horses had to be hitched 
 to the cart, for there was n't a tree there, nor so much as 
 a stump. Uncle Jacob called to us to come help him dig 
 the clams. Billy carried the clam-digger, and I carried 
 the bucket. Is n't it funny that clams live in the mud ? 
 How do you suppose they move round ? Do you suppose 
 they know anything? Uncle Jacob struck his clam-digger 
 in everywhere where he saw holes in the mud ; and as 
 fast as he uncovered the clams we picked them up, and 
 soon got the bucket full. 
 
 Then he told us to run like lamplighters along the 
 shore, and pick up sticks and bits of boards. " Bring 
 them where you see a smoke rising," says he. 
 
 O, such loads as we got, and split up the big pieces 
 with the hatchet ! Uncle Jacob had fixed some stones in
 
 92 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 a good way, and put his iron lireboard on top, and made 
 a fire underneath. Then he spread his clams on the 
 fireboard to roast. O, I tell you, sis, you never tasted 
 of anything so good in your life as clams roasted on a 
 fireboard ! 
 
 And he put some stones together in another place, and 
 set on the tea-kettle, and made a fire under it, to make 
 a cup of tea for mother, he said. Tommy kept helping 
 making the fire, and once he joggled the teakettle over. 
 Aunt Phebe and the girls sat on the rocks, the side where 
 the wind would n't blow the smoke in their eyes. But 
 Billy's grandmother had a soft seat made of seaweed and 
 the chaise cushions, and shawls all over her, and Billy's 
 father read things out of the newspaper to her. He said 
 they two were the invited guests, and must n't work. 
 
 It took the girls ever so long to cut up the cakes and 
 pies, and butter the biscuits. I know I never was so 
 hungry before ! The clams were passed round, piping 
 hot, in box covers, and tin-pail covers, and some had to 
 have shingles. You 'd better believe those clams tasted 
 good ! Then all the other things were passed round. O, 
 I don 't believe any other woman can make things as 
 good as Aunt Phebe's ! Georgianna had a frosted plum- 
 cake baked in a saucer ; and, every time she moved her 
 seat, Uncle Jacob would go too, and sit clo>e up to her, 
 and say how much he liked Georgie, she was the best 
 little girl that ever was, a great deal better than Aunt 
 Phebe's girls. Then Georgianna would say, " O, I 
 know you ! you want my frosted cake ! " Then Uncle 
 Jacob would pucker his lips together, and shut up his 
 eyes, and shake his head so solemn ! He keeps every-
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 93 
 
 body a-laughing, even Billy's grandmother. He was just 
 as clever to her ! picked out the best mug there was to 
 put her tea in, Aunt Phebe don't carry her good 
 dishes, they get broken so, and shocked out the clams 
 for her in a saucer. When you get this letter, I guess 
 you '11 get a good long one. After dinner we scattered 
 about the shore. 'T was fun to see the crabs and frys 
 and things the tide had left in the little pools of water. 
 And I found lots of blanc-mange moss. We boys ran 
 ever so far along shore, and went in swimming. The 
 water was n't very cold. 
 
 When it was time to go home, Uncle Jacob drummed 
 loud on the six-quart pail, and waved his handkerchief. 
 And the wind took it out of his hand, and blew it off on 
 the water. Billy said, " Now the fishes can have a pocket- 
 handkerchief." And that made little Tommy laugh. 
 Tommy had been in wading without his trousers being 
 rolled up, and got 'em sopping wet. Just as we were 
 going to leave, a sail-boat went past, quite near the shore, 
 with a party on board. We gave them three cheers, and 
 they gave us three cheers and a tiger ; then they waved, 
 and then we waved. Uncle Jacob had n't any pocket- 
 handkerchief, so he caught Georgianna up in his arms, 
 with her white sunbonnet on, and waved her ; then the 
 people in the boat clapped. 
 
 O, we had a jolly time coming home ! In the woods 
 we all got out and rested the horses, and I came pretty 
 near catching a little striped squirrel. I should give it 
 to you if I had. Did you ever see any live fences ? 
 Fences that branch out, and have leaves grow on them ? 
 Now I suppose you don't believe that ! But it 's true,
 
 94 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 for I 've seen them. In the woods, if they want to fence 
 off a piece, they don't go to work and build a fence, but 
 they bend down young trees, or the branches of trees, and 
 fasten them to the next, and so on as far as they want the 
 fence to go. And these trees and branches keep grow 
 ing, and look so funny, something like giants with their 
 leg and arms all twisted about. And every spring they 
 leaf out the same as other trees, and that makes a real 
 live fence. My squirrel was on that kind of fence. I 
 wish it was my squirrel. He had a striped back. I got 
 close up to him, that is, I got quite close up, near 
 enough to see his eyes. What things they are to run ! 
 
 Coming home we sang songs, and laughed ; and every 
 time we came to a house we cheered all together, and 
 waved our flags. Everybody came to their windows to 
 look, for there is n't much travelling on that road. O, 
 I 'm so out of breath, and so hoarse ! But I 'm sorry 
 we 've got home, I wish it had been ten miles. Now I 
 hear them laughing and clapping over at Aunt Phebe's. 
 What can they be doing? Now Uncle Jacob is calling 
 us to come over. Bubby Short 's jumped up. He says 
 his throat feels better now. I wonder what Uncle Jacob 
 wants of us. We must go and see. Good by, sis. This 
 letter is from your 
 
 BROTHER DORRY. 
 
 I remember what they were clapping about. It happened 
 that I came out from the city that day. The weather was so 
 fine, I felt as if I must take one more look at the country, be 
 fore winter came and spoiled every bright leaf and flower. I 
 think the flowers and leaves seem very precious in the tall| 
 when we know frost is waiting to kill them.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LKTTERS. 95 
 
 It was quite a disappointment to find the people all gone, 
 and I was glad enough when at last the old hay-cart came rat 
 tling down the lane. Such a jolly set as they were! I jumped 
 them out at the back of the cart. 
 
 That little Tommy was always such a funny chap. Just 
 like his father for all the world. When the girls took their 
 things off', he got himself into an old sack, and then tied on 
 one of his mother's checked aprons, and began to parade 
 round. When Lucy Maria saw him she took him up stairs 
 and put more things on him, and dressed him up for Mother 
 Goose. I don't know when I 've seen anything so droll. They 
 put skirts on him, till they made him look like a little fat old 
 woman. He had a black silk handkerchief pinned over his 
 shoulders, and a ruffle round his neck, and an old-fashioned, 
 high-crowned nightcap on. Then spectacles. They put a 
 peaked piece of dough on the end of his nose, to make it look 
 like a hooked nose, and then set him down in the arm-chair. 
 He kept sober as a judge. Bubby Short laughed till he 
 tumbled down and rolled himself across the floor. Lucy Maria 
 sent us out of the room to see something in the yard, and 
 when we came back, there was a little old man with his hat 
 on, and a cane, sitting opposite Mother Goose. He was made 
 of a stuffed-out overcoat, trousers with sticks of wood in tht m, 
 and boots. " That is Father Goose," Lucy Maria said. Then 
 Bubby Short had to tumble down again; and this time he 
 rolled way through the entry, out on the doorstep ! 
 
 Then came such a pleas-ant evening ! Aunt Phebe said 
 'twas a pity for Grandmother to go to getting supper, they 
 might as well all come over. Where anybody had to boil the 
 teakettle and set the table, half a dozen more or less did n'i 
 matter much. 
 
 So we all ate supper together, and it seemed to me I never 
 did get into such a jolly set ! Uncle Jacob and Aunt Phebe 
 were so funny that we could hardly eat. And in the even-
 
 96 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 ing But 't is no use. If I begin to tell, and tell au I 
 want to, there won't be any room left for the letters. 
 
 Now comes quite a gap in the correspondence. There> 
 must have been many letters written about this time, which 
 were, unfortunately, not preserved. The next in order I find 
 to be a short epistle from Bubby Short, written, it would 
 eeem, soon after the winter holidays. 
 
 A Letter from Bubby Short. 
 
 DEAR BILLY, 
 
 My mother is all the one that I ever wrote a letter to 
 before. So excuse poor writing, and this pen is n't a 
 very good pen to write with I bet. I am very sorry 
 that you can't come back quite yet. I hope that it won't 
 be a fever that you are going to have. Does your 
 grandma think that 't is going to be a fever? Do you 
 take bitter medicine? I never had a fever. I take little 
 pills every lime I have anything. My mother likes little 
 pills best now. But she used to make me take bitter 
 stuff. Once she put it in my mouth and I would n't 
 swallow it down. Then she pinched my nose together 
 and it made me swallow it down. Once I ate up all the 
 little pills out of the bottle, and she was very scared 
 about it. It was n't very full. But the doctor said that 
 it would n't hurt me any if I did eat them. How many 
 presents did you have ? ' I had five. Dorry he says he 
 hopes that it won't be a slow fever that you are going to 
 have if you do have any fever, for he wants you to hurry 
 and come back. Some new fellows have come. One is 
 a tip-top one. And one good " pitcher." I hope you 
 will come back very soon, 'cause I like you very much.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 97 
 
 Do you know who 't is writing? I ana that one all you 
 fellers call 
 
 BUBBY SHORT. 
 
 As may be gathered from the foregoing letter, William 
 Henry did not go back to school with the rest. He was 
 taken ill just at the close of vacation, and remained at home 
 until spring. Grandmother said it was such a comfort that it 
 did n't happen away. And it seemed to me that this thought 
 really made her enjoy his being sick at home. 
 
 Indeed, the people at Summer Sweeting place seemed ready 
 to get enjoyment from everything, even from gruel, which is 
 usually considered flat. I passed a day there at a time when 
 William Henry was subsisting on this very simple but whole 
 some food. Aunt Phebe and Uncle Jacob came in to take 
 tea at grandmother's. The old lady was bringing out her nice 
 things to set on the table, when Aunt Phebe said suddenly, 
 I suppose seeing a hungry look in Billy's eyes. She said, 
 
 "Now, Grandmother, I wouldn't bring those out Let's 
 have a gruel supper, and all fare alike ! We '11 make it in 
 different ways, milk porridge, oatmeal, corn-starch, and 
 I think 't will be a pleasant change." 
 
 " Gruel is very nourishing, well made," said Grandmother ; 
 " but what will Mr. Fry say ? " 
 
 " Mr. Fry will say," I answered, " that milk porridge, with 
 Boston crackers, is a dish fit for a king." 
 
 " I 'm afraid Jacob won't think he 's been to supper," said 
 Grandmother. 
 
 " O yes," said Uncle Jacob, " I '11 think I have at any 
 rate. But I like mine the way the man in the moon did his, 
 or part of the way." 
 
 ' Yes," said Aunt Phebe, " I understand ! The last part 
 the ' plum ' part ! " 
 
 " O, don't all eat gruel for me," said Billy. " Course I 
 sha' n't be a baby, and cry for things ! " 
 
 5 o
 
 '98 THE WILLIAM HEXRY LETTERS. 
 
 But Aunt Phebe seemed resolved to develop the gruel idea 
 to its utmost. She made all kinds, Indian meal, oatmeal, 
 corn-starch, flour, mixed meals, wheat ; made it sweetened, 
 and spiced with plums, and plain. One kind, that she called 
 " thickened milk," was delicious. " Course " we had one cup 
 of tea, and bread and butter, and I can truly say that I have 
 eaten many a worse supper than a " gruel supper." 
 
 Here is a letter from William Henry to Dorry, written when 
 he began to get well : 
 
 William Henry's Letter to Dorry. 
 
 DEAR DORRY, 
 
 I 'm just as hungry as anything, now, about all the 
 time. My grandmother says she 's so glad to see me eat 
 again ; and so am I glad to eat myself. Things taste 
 better than they did before. Maybe I shall come back 
 to school again pretty soon, my father says ; but my grand 
 mother guesses not very, because she thinks I should 
 have a relapse if I did. A relapse is to get sick when 
 you 're getting well ; and, if I should get sick again, O 
 what should I do ! for I want to go out-doors If they 'd 
 only let me go out, I 'd saw wood all day, or anything. 
 There is n't much fun in being sick, I tell you, Dorry ; but 
 getting well, 0, that 's the thing ! I tell you getting well 's 
 jolly ! I have very good things sent to me about every 
 day, and when I want to make molasses candy my grand 
 mother says yes every time, if she is n't frying anything 
 in the spider herself; and then I wait and whistle to my 
 sister's canary-bird, or else look out the window. But 
 she tells me to stand a yard back, because she says cold 
 comes in the window-cracks : and my uncle Jacob he took 
 the yardstick one day, and measured a yard, and put a
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 99 
 
 chalk mark there, where my toes must come to, he said. 
 If I hold the yardstick a foot and a half up from the floor, 
 my sister's kitty can jump over it tip-top. My sister has 
 
 made a Red-Riding-Hood cloak for her kitty, and a muff 
 to put her fore paws in, and takes her out. 
 
 Yesterday Uncle Jacob came into the house and said 
 he had brought a carriage to carry me over to Aunt 
 Phebe's ; and when I looked out it was n't anything 
 but a wheelbarrow. My grandmother said I must 
 wrap up, for 't was the first time ; so she put two over-
 
 100 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 coats on me, and my father's long stockings over my 
 shoes and stockings, and a good many comforters, and 
 then a great shawl over my head so I need n't breathe 
 the air ; and 't was about as bad as to stay in. Uncle 
 Jacob asked her if there was a Billy in that bundle, when 
 he saw it. " Hallo, in there ! " says he. " Hallo, out 
 there ! " says I. Then he took me up in his arms, and 
 carried me out, and doubled me up, and put me down in 
 the wheelbarrow, and threw the buffalo over me ; but one 
 leg got undoubled, and fell out, so I had to drag my foot 
 most all the way. Aunt Phebe undid me, and set me 
 close to the fire ; and Lucy Maria and the rest of them 
 brought me story-books and picture-papers ; and Tommy, 
 he kept round me all the time, making me whittle him 
 out little boats out of a shingle, and we had some fun sail 
 ing 'em in a milk-pan. Aunt Phebe had chicken broth 
 for dinner, and I had a very good appetite. She let me 
 look into all her closets and boxes, and let me open all 
 her drawers. But I had to have a little white blanket 
 pinned on when I went round, because she was afraid her 
 room was n't kept so warm as my grandmother's. Soon 
 as Uncle Jacob came in and saw that little white blanket 
 he began to laugh. " So Aunt Phebe has got out the 
 signal of distress" says he. He calls that blanket the 
 " signal of distress," because when any of them don't feel 
 well, or have the toothache or anything, she puts it on 
 them. She says he shall have to wear it some time, and 
 I guess he'll look funny, he's so tall, with it on. The 
 fellers played base-ball close to Aunt Phebe's garden. .1 
 tell you I shall be glad enough to get out-doors. I tell 
 you it is n't much fun to look out the window and see 'em
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 101 
 
 play ball. But Uncle Jacob says if the ball hit me 't 
 would knock me over now. Aunt Phebe was just as 
 clever, and let me whittle right on the floor, and did n't 
 care a mite. And we made corn-balls. But the best 
 fun was finding things, when I was rummaging. I found' 
 some pictures in an old trunk that she said I might have, 
 and I want you to give them to Bubby Short to put in 
 the Panorama he said he was going to make. He said 
 the price to see it would be two cents. They are true 
 ones, for they are about Aunt Phebe's little Tommy. One 
 day, when he was a good deal smaller feller than he is 
 now, he went out when it had done raining one day, and 
 the wind blew hard, and he found an old umbrella, and 
 did just what is in the pictures. The school-teacher that 
 boarded there, O, she could draw cows and pigs and any 
 thing ; and she drew these pictures, and wrote about them 
 underneath. 
 
 I wish you would write me a letter, and tell Benjie to 
 and Bubby Short. 
 
 From your affectionate friend, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRT. 
 
 P. S. What are you fellers playing now ? 
 
 Thinking the school-teacher's pictures might please other 
 little Tommys, I have taken some pains to procure them for 
 insertion here. Little " fellers " usually are fond of carrying 
 umbrellas, large size preferred. Nothing suited Tommy 
 better than marching off to school of a rainy day with one 
 up full spread, provided he could hold it. His cousin Myra 
 once took an old umbrella and cut it down into a small one, 
 by chopping off the ends of the sticks, supposing he would 
 be d lighted with it. But no, he wanted a " man's one,"
 
 102 
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 TOMMY ON HIS TRAVELS. 
 
 TOMMY sets forth upon his travels around the house, 
 taking with him his whip. 
 
 At the first corner he picks up an umbrella. A larger 
 boy opens the umbrella, and shows him the way to hold
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 103 
 
 ; t. Being an old umbrella, it shuts down again. But 
 Tommy still keeps on in his way. 
 
 At the second corner a gust of wind takes down the 
 
 umbrella, and blows his capes over his head. He pushes 
 on, however, whip in hand, dragging the umbrella behind 
 
 him 
 
 JjLULJiLJ-
 
 104 
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 On turning the third corner a hen runs between his 
 leg.s, and throws him down in the mud. 
 
 He is taken inside, .stripped and washed, and left sit 
 ting upon the floor in his knit shirt, waiting for clean 
 clothes. He can reach the handle of the molasses-jug. 
 He does reach the handle, and tips over the jug. His 
 mother finds him eating molasses off the floor with his 
 forefinger. Tommy looks up with a sweet smile.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Here we have William Henry back at school again. 
 
 105 
 
 William Henry to his Grandmother. 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I 've been here three days now. I came safe nil the 
 way, but that glass vial you put that medicine into, down 
 in the corner of the trunk, broke, and some white stock 
 ings down there, they soaked it all up ; but I sha' n't have 
 to take it now, and no matter, I guess, for I feel well, all 
 but my legs feeling weak so I can't run hardly any. When 
 I got here, the boys were playing ball ; but they all ran 
 to shake hands, and slapped my shoulders so they almost 
 slapped me down, and hollered out, " How are you, Billy ? ' 
 " How fares ye ? " " Welcome back ! " " Got well ? " 
 " Good for you, Billy ! " Gus Beals he 's the great 
 tall one we call " Mr. Augustus " he called out, " How 
 
 are you, red-top?" And then Dorry called out to him, 
 " How are you, hay-pole ? " Dorry and Bubby Short 
 want me to tell you to thank Aunt Phebe for their dough- 
 
 5
 
 106 
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 nuts, and you, too, for that molasses candy. The candy 
 got soft, and the paper jammed itself all into the candy, 
 but Buhby Short says he loves paper when it has molass 
 es candy all over it. I gave some of the things to Benjie. 
 Something hurt me all the way coming, in the toe of my 
 boot ; and when I got here I looked, and 't was a five- 
 cent piece right in the toe ! I know who 't was ! 'T was 
 
 Uncle Jacob when he made believe look to see if that 
 boot-top was n't made of mighty poor leather. I went 
 to spend it yesterday, down to the Two Betseys' shop. 
 Lame Betsey called me a poor little dear, and was just 
 going to kiss me, but I twisted my face round. I 'm too 
 big for all that now, I guess. She looked for something 
 to give me, and was just going to give me a stick of 
 candy ; but the other Betsey said 't was no use to give 
 little boys candy, for they 'd only swallow it right down , 
 so she gave me a row of pins, for she said pins were 
 proper handy things when your buttons ripped off. Just 
 when I was coming back from the Two Betseys' shop I 
 met Gapper Sky blue. He goes about selling cakes now. 
 A good many boys were round him, in a hurry to buy 
 first, and all you could hear was, " Here, Gapper ! "
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 107 
 
 " This way, Gapper ! " " You know me, Gapper ! " " Me, 
 me, me ! " One boy he 's a new boy spoke up loud 
 and said, " Mr. Skyblue, please attend to me, if you please, 
 for I have five pennies to spend ! " . He came from Jer 
 sey. The fellers call him " Old Wonder Boy," because 
 he brags and tells such big stories. But now, just as 
 soon as he begins to tell, Dorry begins too, aoid always 
 tells the biggest, makes them up, you know. O, I tell 
 you, Dorry gives it to him good ! You 'd die a laughing 
 to hear Dorry, and so do all the fellers. W. B., that 's 
 what we call Old Wonder Boy sometimes, W stands 
 for Wonder, and B stands for Boy, he says cents are 
 not cents ; says they are pennies, for the Jersey folks 
 call them pennies, and he guesses they know. He says 
 he gets his double handful of pennies to spend every day 
 down in Jersey. But Bubby Short says he knows that 's 
 a whopper, for he knows there would n't anybody's mother 
 give them their double handful of pennies to spend every 
 day, nor cents either, nor their father either. And then 
 Dorry told Old Wonder Boy that he supposed it took his 
 double handful of pennies to buy a roll of lozenges down 
 in Jersey. Then W. B. said that our lozenges were all 
 flour and water, but down in Jersey they were clear 
 sugar, and just as plenty as huckleberries. Dorry said 
 he did n't believe any huckleberries grew out there, or if 
 they did, they 'd be nothing but red ones, for the ground 
 .vas red out in Jersey. But W. B. said no matter if the 
 ground was red, the huckleberries were just as black as 
 Yankee huckleberries, and blacker too, and three times 
 bigger, and ten times thicker. Said he picked twenty 
 quarts one day.
 
 108 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Dorry said, " Poh, that was n't much of a pick ! * 
 Says he, " Now I '11 tell you a huckleberry story that 's 
 worth something." Then all the boys began to hit 
 elbows, for they knew Dorry would make up some funny 
 thing. Says he : "I went a huckleberrying once to 
 "VVakonok Swamp, and I carried a fourteen-quart tin pail, 
 and a great covered basket, besides a good many quart 
 and pint things. You 'd better believe they hung thick 
 in that swamp ! I found a thick spot, and I slung my 
 fourteen-quart tin pail round my waist, and picked with 
 both hands, and ate off the bushes with my mouth all the 
 while. 1 got all my things full without stirring two yards 
 from the spot, and then I did n't know what to do. But 
 I '11 tell you what I did. I took off iny jacket, and cut 
 my fishing-line, and tied up the bottom ends of my jacket 
 sleeves and picked them both full. And then I did n't 
 know what to do next. But I '11 tell you what I did. I 
 took off my overalls, and tied up the bottoms of their legs, 
 and picked them so full you would n't know but there 
 was a boy standing up in 'em ! " Then the boys all 
 clapped. 
 
 " Well," Old Wonder Boy said, " how did you get them 
 home?" 
 
 " O, got them home easy enough," Dorry said. " First 
 I put the overalls over my shoulders, like a boy going 
 pussy-back. I slung all the quart and pint things round 
 my waist, and hung the covered basket on one arm, and 
 took the fourteen-quart tin pail in that same hand. Then 
 I tied my jacket to the end of my fishing-pole, and held 
 it up straight in my other hand like like a flag in a 
 dead calm ! "
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 109 
 
 O, you ought to 've seen the boys, how they winked 
 at one another and puffed out their cheeks ; and some of 
 'em rolled over and over down hill to keep from laugh 
 ing ! Bubhy Short got behind the fence, and put his face 
 between two bars, and called out, " S e double 1 ! " 
 But Dorry says they don't know what a "s e 
 double 1 " is down in Jersey. But I don't believe that 
 W. B. believes Dorry 's stories ; for I looked him in the 
 face, and he had a mighty sly look when he asked Dorry 
 how it was he got his huckleberries home. 
 
 To-day they got a talking about potatoes. Old Wonder 
 Boy said that down in Jersey they grow so big you have 
 to pry 'em up out of the hill, and it don't take much 
 more than two to make a peck. Dorry told him that 
 down in Maine you could stand on top the potato-hills 
 and look all round the country, they were so high ; and 
 he asked W. B. how they planted 'em in Jersey, with 
 their eyes up or down ? He said he did n't know which 
 way they did turn their eyes. Then Dorry told him the 
 Yankees always planted potatoes eyes up, so they could 
 see which way to grow. Said he planted a hill of pota 
 toes in his father's garden, last summer, with their eyes 
 all down, and waited and waited, but they did n't come 
 up. And when he had waited a spell longer, he raked 
 off the top of that hill of potatoes, and all he saw was 
 some roots sticking up. And he began to dig down. 
 And he kept digging. Followed their stems. But he 
 never got to the potato-tops ; and says he, " I never did 
 get to those potato-tops ! " O, you ought to 've heard 
 the boys ! 
 
 Old Wonder Boy wanted to know where Dorry
 
 110 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 thought they 'd gone to. Dorry thought to himself a 
 minute, and looked just as sober, and then fays he, just 
 like a school-teacher, " The earth, in the middle, is 
 afire. I think when they got deep enough to feel the 
 warm, they guessed 't was the sun, and so kept heading 
 that way." 
 
 Is the world afire in the middle ? Dorry told me that 
 part of his story was really true. How Uncle Jacob 
 would laugh to sit down and hear Dorry and Old Wonder 
 Boy tell about whales. W. B. calls 'em wales. His 
 uncle is a ship-captain, he says, and once he saw a wale, 
 and the wale was making for his ship, and it chased 'em. 
 And, no matter how they steered, that wale would chase. 
 And by and by, in a calm day, he got under the vessel 
 and boosted her up out of water, when all the crew gave 
 a yell, such a horrid yell that the wale let 'em down 
 so sudden that the waves splashed up to the tops of the 
 masts, and they thought they were all drowned. 
 
 " O, poh ! " Dorry cried out. " My uncle was a reg 
 ular whaler, and went a whaling for his living. And 
 once he was cruising about the whaling-grounds and 't was 
 in a place where the days were so short that the nights 
 lasted almost all day. And they got chased by a whale. 
 And he kept chasing them. Night and day. And there 
 came up a gale of wind that lasted three days and nights ; 
 and the ship went like lightning, night and day, the 
 whale after them. And, when the wind went down, the 
 whale was so tuckered that he could n't swim a stroke. 
 So he floated. Then the cap'n sang out to 'em to lower 
 a boat. And they did. And the cap'n got in and took 
 a couple of his men to row him. The whale was rather
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. Ill 
 
 longer than a liberty-pole. About as long as a liberty- 
 pole and a half. He was asleep, and they steered for the 
 tail end. A whale's head is about as big as the Two 
 Betseys' shop, and 't is filled with clear oil, without any 
 trying out. The cap'n landed on the whale's tail, and 
 went along up on tiptoe, and the men rowed the boat along 
 side, and k?ept even with him ; and, when he got towards 
 her ears, he took off his shoes, and threw 'em to the men 
 to catch. After a while he got to the tip-top of her head. 
 Now I '11 tell you what he had in his hand. He had a 
 great junk of cable as big round as the trunk of a tree, 
 and not quite a yard long. In one end of it there was 
 a point of a harpoon stuck in, and the other end of it was 
 lighted. He told the men to stand ready. Then he took 
 hold of the cable with both hands, and with one mighty 
 blow he stuck that pointed end deep in the whale's head, 
 and then gave one jump into the boat, and he cried out 
 to the men, ' Row ! row for your lives ! To the tail 
 end ! If you want to live, row ! ' And before that whale 
 could turn round they were safe aboard the ship ! But 
 now I '11 tell you the best part of the whole story. They 
 did n't have any more long dark nights after that. They 
 kept throwing over bait to keep her chasing, and the 
 great lamp blazed, and as fast as the oil got hot it tried 
 out more blubber, and that whale burned as long as 
 there was a bit of the inside of him left. Flared up, 
 and lighted up the sea, and drew the fishes, and they drew 
 more whales ; and they got deep loaded, and might have 
 loaded twenty more ships. And when they left they took 
 a couple in tow, of whales, and knocked out their 
 teeth for ivory, and then sold their carcasses to an empty 
 whaler."
 
 112 
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Dorry says some parts of this story are true. But he 
 did n't say which parts. Said I must look in the whale- 
 book and find out. 
 
 Your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. I wish you would please to send me a silver 
 three-cent piece or five-cent. Two squaws have got a 
 tent a little ways off, and the boys are going to have their 
 fortunes taken. But you have to cross the squaws' hands 
 with silver. W. H. 
 
 Georgiawna's Letter to William Henry. 
 MY DEAR BROTHER BILLY, 
 
 O Billy, my pretty, darling little bird is dead ! My 
 kitty did it, and O, I don't know what I shall do, for I 
 love my kitty if she did kill my birdie ; but I don't for 
 get about it, and I keep thinking of my birdie every time 
 my kitty comes in the room. I was putting some seeds 
 in the glass, and my birdie looked so cunning ; and I held
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 113 
 
 a lump of white sugar in my lips, and let him peck it. 
 And while I was thinking what a dear little bird he was, 
 I forgot he could fly out ; but he could, for the door was 
 open, and he flew to the window. I did n't think any 
 thing about kitty. It flew up to that bracket you made, 
 and then it went away up in the corner just as high as it 
 could, on a wooden peg that was there. I did n't know 
 what made it flutter its wings and tremble so, but grand 
 mother pointed her finger down to the corner, on the 
 floor, and there was my kitty stretching out and looking 
 up at my bird. And that was what made poor birdie 
 tremble so. And it dropped right down. Before we 
 could run across to catch kitty, he dropped right down 
 into her mouth. I never thought she could get him. I 
 did n't know what made grandmother hurry. I did n't 
 know that kitties could charm birds, but they do. She 
 did n't have him a minute in her teeth, and I thought it 
 could n't be dead. But, Billy, my dear birdie never 
 breathed again ! I warmed him in my hands, and tried 
 to make him stir his wings, but he never breathed again. 
 Now the tears are coming again. I thought I was n't 
 going to cry any more. But they come themselves ; 
 when I don't know it, they come ; and O, it was such a 
 good birdie ! When I came home from school I used to 
 run to the cage, and he would sing to meet me. And I 
 put duckweed over his cage. 
 
 Grandmother has put away that empty cage now. 
 She 's sorry, too. Did you think a grandmother would be 
 sorry about a little bird as that ? But she 'd rather give 
 a good deal. When she put the plates on the table, and 
 rattled spoons, he used to sing louder and louder. And
 
 114 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 in the morning he used to wake me up, singing away so 
 loud ! Now, when I first wake up, I listen. But O, it 
 is so still now ! Then in a minute I remember all about 
 it. Sometimes kitty jumps up on the bed, and puts her 
 nose close down, and purrs. But I say, " No, kitty. Get 
 down. You killed little birdie. I don't want to see you." 
 But she don't know what I mean. She rubs her head on 
 my face, and purrs loud, and wants me to stroke her back, 
 and don't seem as if she had been bad. She used to be 
 such a dear little kitty. And so she is. She 's pretty as 
 a pigeon. Aunt Phebe says she never saw such a pretty 
 little gray and white kitty as she is. I was going to have 
 her drowned. But then I should cry for kitty too. Then 
 I should think how she looked all drowned, down at the 
 bottom, just the same way I do now how my birdie looked 
 when it could n't stir its little wings, and its eyes could n't 
 move. My father says that kitty did n't know any bet 
 ter. I hope so. I took off that pretty chain she had 
 round her neck. But grandmother thinks I had better 
 put it on again. Aunt Phebe's little Tommy says, '' Don't 
 kye, Dordie, I '11 bung dat tat. I '11 take a tick and 
 bung dat tat ! " He calls me Dordie, I guess I rather 
 have kitty alive than let her be drowned, don't you ? 
 Grandmother wants you not to catch cold and, be sick. 
 From your affectionate sister, 
 
 GEORGIANNA. 
 P. S. Grandmother showed me how to write this letter. 
 
 A caged bird is n^ver a very interesting object to me. But 
 this little canary of Georgie's was really a beautiful creature, 
 and very intelligent. They used to think that he listened for
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 115 
 
 her step at noon and night; for no sooner was it heard in the 
 entry than he peeped out with his little bright eyes, and tuned 
 up, and sang away, as if to say, " Glad ! glad ! glad you 've 
 Nome ! glad you 've come ! " 
 
 Then she would go to the cage and talk to him, and let him 
 take suorar from her mouth, and would hang fresh chickweed 
 
 O 
 
 about its cage. Mornings she used to sing, from her bed, and 
 the bird would answer. Indeed, he really seemed quite a 
 uompanion for her. 
 
 At the time the accident happened I had been staying for a 
 few weeks at the hotel, a mile or two off, and called at the 
 farm that very day. Lucy Maria told me, as I stopped at 
 their door, what the kitten had done, and how Georgianna 
 had cried and mourned and could not be comforted. 
 
 I found her sitting on the door-step. She had placed the 
 bird in a small round basket, lined with cotton-wool, and was 
 bending over, and stroking it. I had always noticed the bird 
 a great deal, used to play with it, and whistle to make it sing 
 louder and louder. The sight of me brought all this back to 
 her mind, and she burst into tears again, sobbing out, ' O, he 
 never will sing anymore! Dear little birdie ! He had 
 to fall down ! He could n't help it ! " 
 
 I talked with her awhile, in a cheerful way, and when she 
 had become quite calm I held out my band and said, " Come, 
 Georgie, don't you want to go with me and find a pretty place 
 where we can put birdie away, under the soft grass ? And 
 we will plant a flower there." 
 
 The idea of the soft grass and the flower seemed to please 
 her. She took my hand, and we went to look about. 
 
 We thought the garden not a very good place, because it 
 was dug up every year, and the field would be mowed and 
 trampled upon. But just over the fence, back of the garden, 
 we came upon some uneven ground, where the old summer- 
 gweeting trees grew. In one place there was a sudden pitch
 
 116 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 downwards, into a little hollow, which grass and plantain 
 leaves made almost forever green. For here was what they 
 called the Boiling Spring. The water bubbled out of the 
 ground on the slope of the bank, and in former times, before 
 the well was dug, had been used in the family. Several trees 
 grew about there, wild cherry, damson, and poplar, and a 
 profusion of yellow flowers, wild ones. Some of these grand 
 mother called " Ladies' Slipper " ; the others, " Sullendine." 
 The spring had once been stoned up and boxed over. But 
 the boards were now rotting away, the stones falling in, and 
 our Irttle hollow had quite a deserted look. The. water trickled 
 out and ran away around the curve of the bank. 
 
 Grandmother came with us, and Georgie's teacher, and 
 Matilda and Tommy. We hollowed out a little place under 
 the wild-cherry tree, wrapped the birdie in cotton-wool, lay 
 him in, and covered him over with the green sod. I then 
 went down by the stone wall, where sweetbriers were grow 
 ing, dug up a very pretty little one, and set it out close by, so 
 that it might lean against the cherry-tree. Tommy kept very 
 sober, and scarcely spoke a word, till it was all over. He 
 then said to me, in a very earnest tone, " Mr. Fwy, now .will 
 another birdie grow up there ? " I suppose he was thinking 
 of his father's planting corn and more corn growing. 
 
 William Henry to his Sister. 
 
 MY DEAR LITTLE SISTER, 
 
 I 'm sorry your little birdie *s dead ! He was a nice 
 singing birdie ! But I would n't cry. Maybe you '11 
 have another one some time, if you 're a good little girl. 
 Maybe father '11 go to Boston and buy you one, or maybe 
 Cousin Joe will send one home to you. in a vessel, or 
 maybe I '11 catch one, or maybe a man will come along 
 with birds to sell, or maybe Aunt Phebe's bird will lay
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 117 
 
 an egg and hatch one out. I would n't feel bad about it. 
 It is n't any use to feel bad about it. Maybe, if he 
 had n't been killed, he 'd V died. Dorry says, " Tell her, 
 Don't you cry,' and I '11 give her something, catch her a 
 rabbit or a squirrel ! " Says he '11 tease his sister for her 
 white mice. Says he '11 tease her with the tears in his 
 eyes, or else her banties. 
 
 How do you like your teacher ? Do you learn any 
 lessons at school ? You must try to get up above all the 
 other ones. We 've got two new teachers this year. 
 One is clever, and we like that one, but the other one is n't 
 very. We call the good one Wedding Cake, and we call 
 the other one Brown Bread. Did grandmother tell you 
 about the Fortune Tellers ? We went to-day and she 
 told mine true. She said my father was a very kind 
 man, and said I was quick to get mad, and said I had 
 just got something I 'd wanted a long time (watch, you 
 know), and said I should have something else that I 
 wanted, but .did n't say when. I wonder how she knew 
 I wanted a gun. I thought perhaps somebody told her, 
 and laid it to Old Wonder Boy, for we two had been 
 talking about guns. But he flared up just like a flash of 
 powder. " There. Now you need n't blame that on to 
 me ! " says he. " You fellers always do blame everything 
 on to me ! " Sometimes when somebody touches him he 
 hollers out, " Leave me loose ! Leave me loose ! " 
 Dorry says that 's the way fellers talk down in Jer 
 sey. The Fortune Teller told W. B. that he came from 
 a long way off, and that he wanted to be a soldier, but 
 he 'd better give up that, for he would n't dare to go to war, 
 without he went behind to sell pies. All of us laughed to
 
 118 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 hear that, for Old Wonder Boy is quick to get scared. 
 But he is always straightening himself up, and looking 
 big, and talking about his native land, and what he would 
 do for his native land, and how he would fight for his 
 native land, and how he would die for his native land. 
 He says that why she told him that kind of a fortune 
 was because he gave her pennies and not silver money. 
 His uncle that goes cap'n of a vessel has sent him a let 
 ter, and in the letter it said that he had a sailor aboard 
 tos ship that used to come to this school. 
 
 I was going to tell you a funny story about W. B.'s 
 getting scared, but Dorry he keeps teasing me to go 
 somewhere. I made these joggly letters when he tickled 
 
 my ears with his paint-brush. Has your pullet begun to 
 lay yet ? I hope my rooster won't be killed. Tell them 
 not to. Benjie says he had a grand great rooster. It 
 was white and had green and purple tail feathers, O, very 
 long tail feathers, and stood 'most as high as a barrel of 
 flour, with great yellow legs, and had a beautiful crow, 
 and could drive away every other one that showed his 
 head, and he set his eyes by that rooster, but when he 
 got home they had killed him for broth, and when he 
 asked 'em where his rooster was they brought out the
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 119 
 
 wish-bone and two tail feathers, and that was all there 
 was left of him. I would n't have poor little kitty 
 drowned way down in the deep water 'cause to drown a 
 kitty could n't make a birdie alive again. Have your 
 flowers bloomed out yet ? You must be a good little girl, 
 and try to please your grandmother all you can. 
 From your affectionate brother, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. Now Dorry 's run to head off a loose horse, and 
 I '11 tell you about Old Wonder Boy's getting scared. It 
 was one night when Now there comes Dorry back 
 again ! But next time I will. 
 
 W. H. 
 
 William Henry to his Sister, about Old Wonder Boy's 
 
 Fright. 
 MY DEAR SISTER, 
 
 I will put that little story I am going to tell you right 
 at the beginning, before Dorry and Bubby Short get back. 
 I mean about W. B.'s getting scared. But don't you be 
 scared, for after all 't was no, I mean after all 't was n't 
 but wait and you '11 know by and by, when I tell you. 
 'T was one night when Dorry and I and some more fel 
 lers were a sitting here together, and we all of us heard 
 some thick boots coming a hurrying up the stairs, and the 
 door came a banging open, and W. B. pitched in, just as 
 pale as a sheet, and could n't but just breathe. And he 
 tried to speak, but could n't, only one word at once, and 
 catching his breath between, just so, "Shut the 
 door! Do! Do! shut the door!" Then we 
 shut up the door, and Bubby Short stood his back up
 
 120 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 against it because 't would n't quite latch, and now I will 
 tell you what it was that scared him. Not at the first of 
 it, but I shall tell it just the same way we found it out. 
 
 Says he, " I was making a box, and when I got it done 
 't was dark, but I went, to carry the carpenter's tools 
 back to him, because I promised to. And going along," 
 says he, " I thought I heard a funny noi.se behind me, 
 but I did n't think very much about it, but I heard it 
 a^ain, and I looked over my shoulder, and I saw some 
 thing white behind me, a chasing me. I went faster, and 
 then that went faster. Then I went slower, and then 
 that went slower. And then I got scared and ran as fast 
 as I could, and looked over my shoulder and 't was keep 
 ing up. But it did n't run with feet, nor with leg?, for 
 then I should n't V been scared. But it came O, I 
 don't know how it came, without anything to go on." 
 
 Dorry asked him, " How did it look ? " 
 
 <k O, white. All over white," says W. B. 
 
 " How big was it ? " Bubby Short asked him. 
 
 " O, I don't know," says W. B. " First it looked 
 about as big as a pigeon, but every time I looked round 
 it seemed to grow bigger and bigger." 
 
 " Maybe 't was a pigeon," says Dorry. " Did it have 
 any wings ? " 
 
 " Not a wing," says "W. B. 
 
 " Maybe 't was a white cat," says Mr. Augustus. 
 
 " O, poh, cat ! " says W. B. 
 
 " Or a poodle dog," says Benjie. 
 
 " Nonsense, poodle dog ! " says W. B. 
 
 " Or a rabbit"," snys Bubby Short. 
 
 " O, go 'way with your rabbit ! " says W. B. " Did n't 
 I tell you it had n't any feet or legs to go with ? "
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 121 
 
 " Then how could it go ? " Mr. Augustus asked him. 
 
 " That 's the very thing," said W. B. 
 
 " Snakes do," says Bubby Short. 
 
 " But a snake would n't look white," says Benjie. 
 
 " Without 't was scared," says Dorry. 
 
 I said I guessed I knew. Like enough 't was a ghost 
 of something. 
 
 I said like enough of a robin or some kind of bird. 
 
 " Of what ? " then they all asked me. 
 
 " That he 'd stolen the eggs of," says Dorry. 
 
 " O yes ! " says Old Wonder Boy. " It 's easy enough 
 to laugh, in the light here, but I guess you 'd V been 
 scared, seeing something chasing you in the dark, and 
 going up and down, and going tick, tick, tick, every time 
 it touched ground, and sometimes it touched my side too." 
 
 " For goodness gracious ! " says Dorry. " Can't you 
 tell what it seemed most like ? " 
 
 " I tell you it did n't seem most like anything. It 
 did n't run, nor walk, nor fly, nor creep, nor glide along. 
 And when I got to the Great Elm-Tree, I cut round that 
 tree, and ran this way, and that did too." 
 
 " Where is it now ? " Dorry asked him. 
 
 " O, don't ! " says W. B. " Don't open the door. 'T is 
 out there." 
 
 " Come, fellers," Dorry said, " let 's go find it." 
 
 Benjie said, "Let's take something to hit it with !" 
 And he took an umbrella and I took the bootjack, and 
 Bubby Short took the towel horse, and Mr. Augustus 
 took a hair-brush, and Dorry took his boot with his arm run 
 down in it, and first we opened the door a crack and 
 did n't go out, but peeped out, but did n't see anything 
 6
 
 122 
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 there. Then we went out a little ways, and then <ive 
 did n't see anything. And pretty soon, going alonv/ to 
 wards the stairs, Bubby Short stepped on something. 
 "What's that? " says he. And he jumped, and we all 
 flung our things at it. u Hold the light ! " Dorry cried 
 out. 
 
 Then W. B. brought out the light, and there was n't 
 anything there but a carpenter's reel, with a chalk line 
 wound up on it, and they picked it up and began to wind 
 
 up, and when they came to the end of it where do you 
 s'pose the other end was ? In W. B.'s pocket ! and his 
 ball and some more things held it fast there, and that 
 chalk-line reel was what went bobbing up and down be 
 hind Old Wonder Boy every step he took, bob, bob, 
 bobbing up and down, for there was a hitch in the line 
 and it could n't unwind any more, and the line under the 
 door was why 't would n't latch, and O, but you ought 
 to Ve heard the fellers how they roared ! 4 and Bubby 
 Short rolled over on the floor, and Dorry he tumbled 
 heels over head on all the beds, and we all shouted and 
 hurrahed so the other fellers came running to see what 
 was up, and then the teachers came to see who was fling*
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 123 
 
 ing things round so up here, and to see what was the mat 
 ter, but there could n't anybody tell what the matter was 
 for laughing, and W. B. he looked so sheepish ! 0, if 
 it was n't gay ! How do you like this story ? That part 
 where it touched his side was when that reol caught on 
 something and so jerked the string some. Now I must 
 study my lesson. 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. When you send a box don't send very many 
 clothes in it, but send goodies. I tell you things taste 
 good when a feller 's away from his folks. Dorry's father 
 had a picture taken of Dorry's little dog and sent it to 
 him, and it looks just as natural as some boys. Tell 
 Aunt Phebe's little Tommy he may sail my boat once. 
 'T is put away up garret in that corner where I keep 
 things, side of that great long-handled thing, grand 
 mother's warming-pan. I mean that little sloop boat I 
 
 had when I 's a little feller. 
 
 W. H. 
 
 Georgianna's Letter to William Henry. 
 MY DEAR BROTHER BILLY, 
 
 Kitty is n't drowned. I 've got ever so many new 
 dolls. My grandmother went to town, not the same day 
 my kitty did that, but the next day, and she brought me 
 home a new doll, and that same day she went there my 
 father went to Boston, and he brought me home a very 
 big one, no, not very, but quite big, and Aunt 
 Phebe went a visiting to somebody's house that very day, 
 and she brought me home a doll, and while she wa* gone 
 away Hanuah Jane dressed over one of Matilda's old ones
 
 124 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 new, and none of the folks knew that the others were 
 going to give me a doll, and then Uncle J. said that if it 
 was the family custom to give Georgianna a doll, lie 
 would give Georgianna a doll, and he went to the field 
 and catched the colt, and tackled him qp into the riding 
 wagon on purpose, and then he started off to town, and 
 when he rode up to our back door there was a great dolly, 
 the biggest one I had, and she was sitting down on the 
 seat, just like a live one. And she had a waterfall, and 
 she had things to take off and on. Then Uncle J. asked 
 me what I should do with my old dollies that were 'most 
 worn out. And I said I did n't know what I should. 
 And then Uncle J. said that he would take the lot, for 
 twenty-five cents a head, to put up in his garden, for 
 scarecrows, and he asked me if I would sell, and I said I 
 would. And he put the little ones on little poles and the 
 big ones on tall poles, with their arms stretched out, and 
 the one with a long veil looked the funniest, and so did 
 the one dressed up like a sailor boy, but one arm was 
 broke off of him, and a good many of their noses too. 
 The one that had on old woman's clothes Uncle J. put a 
 pipe in her mouth. And the one that had a pink gauze 
 dress, but 't is all faded out now, and a long train, but the 
 train was torn very much, that one has a great bunch of 
 flowers paper pinned on to her, and another in her 
 hand, and the puppy he barks at 'em like everything. 
 My pullet lays, little ones, you know. I hope she won't 
 do like Lucy Maria's Leghorn hen. That one flies into 
 the bedroom window every morning, and lays eggs on 
 the bedroom bed. For maybe 't would come in before I 
 got up. My class has begun to learn geography, and my
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTKBS. 125 
 
 father has bought me a new geography. But I guess I 
 sha' n't like to learn it very much if the backside is hard 
 as the foreside is. Uncle J. says no need to worry your 
 mind any about that old fowl, for he 's so tough he could n't 
 be killed. I wish you would tell me how long he could 
 live if it was n't killed, for Uncle J. says they grow 
 tougher every year, and if you should let one live too 
 long, then he can't die. But I guess he's funning, do you ? 
 Our hens scratched and scratched up some of my flow 
 ers, and so did the rain wash some up that night it came 
 down so 1 hard, but one pretty one bloomed out this mbrn- 
 ing, but it has budded back again now. Aunt Phebe 
 says she sends her love to you, tied up with this pretty 
 piece of blue ribbon. She says, if you want to, you can 
 take the ribbon and wear it for a neck bow. Grand 
 mother says how do you know but that sailor that went 
 to your school in Old Wonder Boy's uncle's vessel i.s that 
 big boy, that bad one that ran away, you called Tom 
 Cu*h? 
 
 Father laughs to hear about Old Wonder Boy, and he 
 says a bragger ought to be laughed at, and bragging is a 
 bad thing. But he don't want you to pick out all the 
 bad things about a boy to send home in your letters ; 
 says next time you must send home a good thing about 
 him, because he thinks every boy you see has some good 
 things as well as some bad things. 
 
 A dear little baby has moved in the house next to our 
 house. It lets me hold her, and its mother lets me drag 
 her out. It 's got little bits of toes, and it 's got a little 
 bit of a nose, and it says i( Da da ! da da ! da da ! " And 
 when I was dragging her out, the wheel went over a poor
 
 126 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS 
 
 little butterfly, but I guess it was dead before. O, its 
 wings were just as soft ! and 't was a yellow one. And 
 I buried it up in the ground close to where I buried up 
 my little birdie, side of the spring. 
 Your affectionate sister, 
 
 GEORGIANNA. 
 
 Among the other letters I find the following, from Tom 
 Cush. As the people at Summer Sweeting place had been told 
 the circumstances of his running away, it was not only proper, 
 but just, that William Henry should send them this letter. 
 
 A Letter from Tom Cush to Dorry. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, 
 
 I have not seen you for a great while. I hope you 
 are in good health. Does William Henry go to school 
 there now ? And does Benjie go, and little Bubby 
 Short ? I hope they are in good health. Do the Two 
 Betseys keep shop there now ? Is Gapper Skyblue 
 alive now ? I am in very good health. I go to sea now. 
 That 's where I went when I went away from school. I 
 suppose all the boys hate me, don't they ? But I don't 
 blame them any for hating me. I should think they 
 would all of them hate me. For I did n't act very well 
 when I went to that school. Our captain knows about 
 that school, for he is uncle to a boy that has begun to go. 
 He's sent a letter to him. I wish that boy would write 
 a letter to him, because he might tell about the ones I 
 know. 
 
 I Ve been making up my mind about telling you some 
 thing. I 've been thinking about it, and thinking about 
 it. I don't like to tell things very well. But I am going
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 127 
 
 to tell this to you. It is n't anything to tell. I mean it 
 is n't like news, or anything happening to anybody. But 
 it is something about when I was sick. For I had a fit 
 of sickness. I don't mean afterwards, when I was so 
 very sick, but at the first beginning of it, 
 
 The captain he took some books out of his chest and 
 said I might have them to read if I wanted to. And I 
 read about a man iu one of them, and the king wanted 
 him to do something that the man thought was n't right 
 to do ; but the man said he would not do what was wrong. 
 And for that he was sent to row in a very large boat 
 among all kinds of bad man, thieves and murderers and 
 the worst kind. They had to row every minute, and 
 were chained to their oars, and above their waists they 
 had no clothes on. They had overseers with long whips. 
 The officers stayed on deck over the rowers' heads, and 
 when they wanted the vessel to go faster, the overseers 
 made their long whip-lashes cut into the men's backs till 
 they were all raw and bleeding. Nights the chains were 
 not taken off, and they slept all piled up on each other. 
 Sometimes when the officers were in a hurry, or when 
 there were soldiers aboard, going to fight the enemy's 
 vessels, then the men would n't have even a minute to 
 eat, and were almost starved to death, and got so weak 
 they would fall over, but then they were whipped again. 
 And when they got to the enemy's ships, they had to sit 
 and have cannons fired in among them. Then the dead 
 ones were picked up and thrown into the water. And 
 the king told the man that if he wanted to be free, and 
 have plenty to eat and a nice house, and good clothes to 
 wear, all he had to do was to promise to do that wrong
 
 128 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 thin". But the man said no. For to be chained there 
 
 O 
 
 would only hurt his body. But to do wrong would hurt 
 his soul. 
 
 And I read about some people that lived many 
 hundred years ago and the emperor of that country 
 wanted these people to say that their religion was wrong 
 and his religion was the right one. But they said, " No. 
 We believe ours is true, and we cannot lie." Then the 
 emperor took away all their property, and pierced them 
 with red-hot irons, and threw some into a place where they 
 kept wild beasts. But they still kept saying, " We can 
 not lie, we must speak what we believe." And one was a 
 boy only fifteen years old. And the emperor thought he 
 was so young they could scare him very easy. And he 
 said to him, " Now say you believe the way I want you to, 
 or I will have you shut up in a dark dungeon." But the 
 boy said, " I will riot say what is false." And he was shut 
 up in a dark dungeon, underground. And one day the em 
 peror said to him, " Say you believe the way I want you 
 to, or I will have you stretched upon a rack." But 
 the boy said, " I will not speak falsely." And he was 
 stretched upon a rack till his bones were almost pulled 
 apart. Then the emperor asked, " Now will you believe 
 that my religion is right ? " But the boy could not say so. 
 And the emperor said, " Then you '11 be burned alive ! " 
 The boy said, " I can suffer the burning, but I cannot 
 lie." Then he was brought out and the wood was piled 
 up round him, and set on fire, and the boy was burned 
 up with the wood. And while he was burning up he 
 thanked God for having strength enough to suffer and 
 not lie.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS 129 
 
 Dorry, I want to tell you how much I 've been think 
 ing about that man and that boy ever since. And I want 
 to ask you to do something. I 've been thinking about 
 how mean I was, and what I did there so as not to get 
 punished. And I want you to go see my mother and tell 
 her that I 'm ashamed. Don't make any promises to my 
 mother, but only just tell, "Tom's ashamed." That's 
 all. I don't want to make promises. But I know myself 
 just what I mean to do. But I sha' n't talk about that 
 any. Give my regards to all inquiring friends. 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 TOM. 
 
 P. S. Can't you tell things about me to William Henry 
 and the others, for it is very hard to me to write a letter ? 
 Write soon. T. 
 
 Mr. Carver's visit to the Crooked Pond School alluded to in 
 the following letter was quite an event for my Summer Sweet 
 ing friends, and caused an extra amount of cooking to be done 
 in both families. Boys don't half appreciate the blessing of 
 not being too old to have goodies sent them. Now goodies 
 taste good to me, very good, but I have n't a friend in the 
 world who would think of boiling up a kettleful of molasses 
 into candy, or of making a waiterful of seed-cakes to send 
 me. Too old, they say, in actions, if not in words. How 
 cruelly we are misjudged sometimes, and by those who ought 
 to know us best ! I shall never be too old to receive a box 
 like that of William Henry's, never, never ! unless my whole 
 constitution is altered and several clauses taken out of it. 
 
 I remember of seeiog that waiter of " good seed-cakes " on 
 grandmother's best room table, between the front windows, 
 waiting to be packed in Mr. Carver's valise. Mr. Carver's 
 black silk neck-handkerchief, taJJ bat, clean dickies, stockings,
 
 130 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 two red and white silk pocket-handkerchiefs, and various other 
 articles were distributed over the adjacent chairs, and his um 
 brella, in a brown cambric covering, stood near by. I have 
 the impression that most of these things were ironed over, five 
 or six times, as grandmother felt that apparel going away from 
 home could not be too much ironed. Besides, it seemed to 
 her impossible that such an event as Billy's father setting out 
 on his travels should take place without extra exertions in 
 some quarter. 
 
 Mr. Carver had other business which took him from home, 
 but as " going to fee Billy " was thought enough to tell Airs. 
 Paulina, why, it is enough for me to tell. " Mrs. Paulina " 
 was an elderly woman, the wife of Mr. John Slade, one of the 
 neighbors, and she was called " Mrs. Paulina," to distinguish 
 her from several other Mrs. Slades. 
 
 Mrs. Paulina had her own opinion as to how money and 
 time should be spent, everybody's money and time. She 
 was one of the prying sort, and had wonderful skill in ferret 
 ing out all the whys and wherefores of her neighbor's proceed 
 ings. It was a common thing at the Farm to say, when un 
 dertaking some new scheme, " Well, how much shall we tell 
 Mrs. Paulina ? " It being a matter of course that she would 
 inquire into it. The girls often amused themselves by giving 
 her blinding answers just to see how she would contrive to 
 carry her point. I remember their having great fun doing 
 this, just after William Henry went away to school. Lucy 
 Maria said 't was just like a conundrum to Mrs. Paulina, a 
 great mammoth conundrum, and the poor thing must be told 
 about " Old Uncle Wallace," or she would wear herself out, 
 wondering " how Mr. Carver could possibly afford the money." 
 
 The " Old Uncle Wallace " thus brought to the rescue of 
 Mrs. Paulina would probably not have came to her rescue, 
 or to any woman's rescue, had he been free to choose, seeing, 
 that he lived and died a bachelor, and a stingy bachelor at 
 that ! The old miser was a distant uncle, either half-uncle,
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 131 
 
 or grand-uncle, or half grand-uncle of the Mr. Carvers, and 
 lived, that is before he died, in a town some twenty miles off. 
 Billy's father was named for Uncle Wallace, and when a little 
 boy, lived in the same neighborhood, and was quite a favorite 
 with him. 
 
 The acquaintance with that distant branch of the family, 
 however, had not been kept up, in fact I have no recollection 
 of a single member of it ever coming to the Farm. They were 
 people well to do in the world, and neither Mr. Carver nor 
 Uncle Jacob were men to " honey round " rich relations. 
 Certainly they never would have fawned upon the miserly 
 old fellow, who had the reputation of being mean and tricky 
 as well as miserly. 
 
 It seems, however, that " Uncle Wallace " did not wholly 
 forget his namesake, for in his will he left him quite a valua 
 ble wood-lot near Corry's Pond, some six or eight miles from 
 the Farm, and a few hundred dollars besides. 
 
 This occurred not a great while before my first ride out with 
 Uncle Jacob. Mr. Carver had long felt that Billy was being 
 spoiled at home, and the Crooked Pond School being recom 
 mended at that time as " really good," and " not too expen 
 sive," he resolved that while feeling rich he would place his 
 son at that institution. And he was more especially inclined 
 to do so for the reason that an old friend of his lived near 
 there, and this friend's wife promised to see that the boy did 
 not go about in actual rags. She is probably the person to 
 whom William Henry refers in his first letters, as " the woman 
 I go to have my buttons sewed on to." 
 
 The above circumstances were duly imparted to Mrs. Pau 
 lina, yet that perplexed woman got no relief. True, it was 
 tomething to know where the money came fiom, but " How 
 could a man," she asked, ' spend so much money on eddica- 
 tion, when it might be drawing interest, or put into land? " 
 
 Mrs. Paulina could n't guess. She gave it up.
 
 132 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 William Henry's Letter to his Grandmother. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I suppose my father has got home again by this time. 
 I like to have my father come to see me. The boys all 
 say my father is a tip-top one. I guess they like to have 
 a man treat them with so many peanuts and good seed 
 cakes. I got back here to-day from Dorry's cousin's par 
 ty. My father let me go. I wish my sister could have 
 f-een that party. Tell her when I get there I will tell 
 her all about the little girls, and tell her how cunning the 
 little ones, as small as she, looked dancing, and about the 
 good things we had. O, I never saw such good things 
 before ! I did n't know there were such kinds of good 
 things in the world. 
 
 Did my father tell you all about that letter that Tom 
 Gush wrote to Dorry ? Ask him to. Dorry sent that 
 letter right to Tom Gush's mother. And when Dorry 
 and I were walking along together the next morning after 
 the party, she was sitting at her window, and as soon 
 as she saw us she said, " Won't you come in, boys ? 
 Do come in ! " And looked so glad ! And laughed, and 
 about half cried, after we went in, and it was that same 
 room where we went before. But it did n't seem so 
 lonesome now, not half. Jt looked about as sunshiny as 
 our kitchen does, and they had flower-vases. I wish I 
 could get some of those pretty seeds for my sister, for 
 she has n't got any of that kind of flowers. 
 
 She seemed just as glad to see us ! And shook hands 
 and looked so smiling, and so did Tom's father when he 
 came into the room. He had a belt in his hand that Tom
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 133 
 
 used to wear when he used to belong to that Base-ball Club. 
 And when we saw that Dorry said, " Why ! has Tom got 
 back ? " Tom's mother said, " O no." But his father said, 
 " O yes ! Tom 's got back. He has n't got back to our 
 house, but he 's got back. He has n.'t got back to town, 
 but he 's got back. He has n't got back to his own coun 
 try, but he's got back. For I call that" getting back," 
 says he, " when a boy gets back to the right way of 
 feeling." 
 
 Then Tom's mother took that belt and hung it up where 
 it u*ed to be before, for it had been taken down and put 
 away, because they did n't want to have it make them 
 think of Tom so much. 
 
 She said when Tom got back in earnest, back to the 
 house, that we two, Dorry and I, must come there and 
 make a visit, and I hope we shall, for they 've got a pond 
 at the bottom of their garden, and Tom's father owns a 
 boat, and you must n't think I should tip over, for I sha'n't, 
 and no matter if I should, I can swim to shore easy. 
 Your affectionate grandchild, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. Bubby Short did n't mean to, but he sat down 
 on my speckled straw hat, and we could n't get it out 
 even again, and I did n't want him to, but he would go 
 to buy me a new one, and I went with him, but the man 
 did n't have any, for he said the man that made speckled 
 straw hats was dead and his shop was burnt down, and we 
 found a brown straw hat, but I would n't let Bubby Short 
 pay any of his money, only eight cents, because I did n't 
 have quite enough. Don't shopkeepers have the most mon 
 ey of all kinds of men ? Would n't you be a shopkeeper
 
 134 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 when I grow up? It seems just as easy! If you was 
 me would you swap oft* your white-handled jack-knife 
 your father bought you for a four-blader ? My sister 
 said to send some of W. B.'s good things. He wrote a 
 very good composition about heads, the teacher said, and 
 I am going to send it, for that will be sending one of his 
 good things. It 's got in it about two dozen kinds of 
 heads besides our own heads. W. B. is willing for me 
 to copy it off. And Bubby Short wrote a very cunning 
 little one, and if you want to, you may read it. The 
 teacher told us a good deal about heads. 
 
 W. H. 
 W. B.'s Composition. 
 
 HEADS. 
 
 HEADS are of different shapes and different sizes. 
 They are full of notions. Large heads do not always 
 hold the most. Some persons can tell just what a man is 
 by the shape of bis head. High heads are the best kind.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 135 
 
 Very knowing people are called long-headed. A fellow 
 that won't stop for anything or anybody is called hot 
 headed. If he is n't quite so bright, they call him soft 
 headed ; if he won't be coaxed nor turned, they call him 
 pig-headed. Animals have very small heads. The 
 heads of fools slant back. When your head is cut off 
 you are beheaded. Our heads are all covered with hair, 
 except baldheads. There are other kinds of heads be 
 sides our heads. 
 
 First, there are Barrel-heads. Second, there are Pin- 
 heads. Third, Heads of sermons, sometimes a minis 
 ter used to have fifteen heads to one sermon. Fourth, 
 Headwind. Fifth, Head of cattle, when a farmer 
 reckons up his cows and oxen he calls them so many head 
 of cattle. Sixth, Drumheads, drumheads are made of 
 sheepskin. Seventh, Heads or tails, when you toss up 
 pennies. Eighth, Doubleheaders, when you let off 
 rockets. Ninth, Come to a head like a boil or a re 
 bellion. Tenth, Cabbageheads, dunces are called cab- 
 bageheads, and good enough for them. Eleventh. At 
 Loggerheads, when you don't agree. Twelfth, Heads 
 of chapters. Thirteenth, Head him off, when you 
 want to stop a horse, or a boy. Fourteenth. Head of the 
 family. Fifteenth, A Blunderhead. Sixteenth, The 
 Masthead, where they send sailors to punish them. 
 Seventeenth, get up to the head, when you spell the 
 word right. Eighteenth, The Head of a stream, where 
 it begins. Nineteenth, Down by the head, when a 
 vessel is deep loaded at the bows. Twentieth, a Figure 
 head carved on a vessel. Twenty-first, The Cathead, and 
 that's the end of a stick of timber that a ship's anchor
 
 13G THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 hangs by. Twenty-second, A Headland, or cape. Twen 
 ty-third, A Head of tobacco. Tsventy-fourth, A Bulk 
 head, which is a partition in a ship. Twenty-fifth, Go 
 ahead, but first be sure you are right. 
 
 Bnbby Short" s Composition. 
 
 ON MORNING. 
 
 IT is very pleasant to get up in the morning and walk 
 in the green fields, and hear the birds sing. The morn 
 ing is the earliest part of the day. The sun rises in the 
 morning. It is very good for our health to get up early. 
 It is very pleasant to see the sun rise in the morning. In 
 the morning the flowers bloom out and smell very good. 
 If it thunders in the morning, or there 's a rainbow, 't will 
 be rainy weather. Fish bite best in the morning, when 
 you go a fishing. I like to sleep in the morning. 
 
 Here is a letter which, judging from the improvement 
 shown in handwriting, and from its rather more dashing style, 
 seems to have been written during William Henry's second 
 school year. 
 
 William Henrys Letter about the "Charade." 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I never did in all my life have such a real tiptop time 
 as we fellers had last night. We acted charades, and 
 I never did any before, and the word was no, I 
 must n't tell you, because it has to be guessed by actions, 
 and when you get the paper that I 'm going to send you, 
 soon as I buy a two-cent stamp, then you '11 see it all 
 printed out in that paper. The teacher the fellers call
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 137 
 
 Wedding Cake, because he 's such a good one, asked all 
 the ones that board here to come to his house last night, 
 and we acted charades, and his sister told us what to be, 
 and what things to put on, and everything. You '11 see 
 it printed there, but you must please to send it back, for 
 I promised to return. 
 
 There were n't females enough, and so Dorry he was 
 the Fat Woman, and we all liked to ha' died a laughing, 
 getting ready, but when we were there, I 'most told ! 
 
 O if you could ha' seen Bubby Short, a fiddling away, 
 with old ragged clothes and old shoes and his cap turned 
 wrong side out, then he passed round that cap just as 
 sober much as we could do to keep in ! I was a clerk 
 and had a real handsome mustache done under my nose 
 with a piece of burnt cork-stopple burned over the light. 
 And she told me to act big, like a clerk, and I did. 
 
 Mr. Augustus was the dandy, and if he did n't strut, 
 but he struts other times too, but more then, and made all 
 of us laugh. 
 
 Old Wonder Boy was the boy that sold candy, and he 
 spoke up smart and quick, just as she told him to, and the 
 teacher was the country feller and acted just as funny, 
 and so did his sister ; his sister was the shopping woman. 
 Both of them like to play with boys, and they 're grown 
 up, too. Should you think they would ? And they like 
 candy same as we do. And when it came to the end, just 
 as the curtain was dropping down, we all took hold of the 
 rounds of our chairs, and jerked ourselves all of a sud 
 den up in a heap together, and groaned, and so forth. 
 
 I wish you all and Aunt Phebe's folks had been there. 
 We had a treat, and O, if 't was n't a treat, why, I '11
 
 138 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 agree to treat myself. Three kinds of ice-creams shaped 
 up into pyramids and rabbits, and scalloped cakes and 
 candy, and such a great floating island in a platter ! 
 Dorry said 't was a floating continent ! and had red 
 jelly round the platter's edge, and some of that red jelly 
 was dipped out every dip. O, if he is n't a tiptop teacher ! 
 Dorry says we ought to be ashamed of ourselves if we 
 have missing lessons, or cut up any for much as a week, 
 and more too, I say. 
 
 And so I can't tell any more now, for I mean to study 
 hard if I possibly can. 
 
 Your affectionate grandson. 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 Please lend it to Aunt Phebe's folks. 
 
 CHAEADE. (Carpet.) 
 
 FIRST SYLLABLE. 
 
 Chairs placed in two rows, to represent seats of cars. Passengers enter 
 and take their seats. Placard stuck up, "Beware of Pickpockets," 
 in capitals. 
 
 First. Enter two school-girls, M. and A., with books 
 strapped about, lunch-box, &c. They are laughing and 
 chatting. M. gives A. a letter to read. A. smiles while 
 reading it, M. watching her face, then both look over it 
 together. Afterwards, study their lessons. All this must 
 be going on while the other passengers are entering. 
 
 Second. Business man and two clerks, one at a time. 
 One takes out little account-book, another reads paper, 
 another sits quietly, after putting ticket in his hat-band. 
 
 Third. Fat woman, with old-fashioned carpet-bag, urn-
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 139 
 
 brella, and bundles tied up in handkerchiefs ; seats her 
 self with difficulty. 
 
 Fourth. A clergyman, all in black, very solemn, with 
 white neckcloth and spectacles. 
 
 Fifth. Yankee fellow from the country, staring at all 
 new-comers. 
 
 Sixth. Daudy, with yellow gloves, slender cane, stun 
 ning necktie, watch-chain, and eyeglass comes in with 
 a flourish, lolls back in his seat, using his eyeglass fre 
 quently. 
 
 Seventh. Lady with infant (very large rag-baby, in 
 cloak and sunbonnet) and nurse girl. Baby, being fussy, 
 has to be amused, trotted, changed from one to the other. 
 Lady takes things from her pocket to please it, dancing 
 them up and down before its face. 
 
 Eighth. Plainly dressed, industrious woman, who knits. 
 
 Ninth. Fashionable young lady, dressed in the ex 
 treme of fashion. She minces up the aisle, looks at the 
 others, seats herself apart from them, first brushing the 
 seat. Shakes the dust from her garments, fans herself, 
 takes out smelling-bottle, &c. (Shout is heard.) " All 
 aboard ! " 
 
 Tenth. In a hurry, Lady that 's been a-shopping, lead 
 ing or pulling along her little boy or girl. She carries a 
 waterproof on her arm, and has a shopping-bag and all 
 "orts of paper parcels, besides a portfolio, a roller cart, a 
 wooden horse on wheels, a drum, a toy-whip (and vari 
 ous other things). Doll's heads stick out of a paper. 
 Lady drops a package. Dandy picks it up with polite 
 bow. Drops another. Yankee picks it up, imitating 
 Dandy's polite bow. Gets seated at last, arranges her
 
 140 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 bonnet-string*, takes off the child's hat, smooths its hair, 
 &c. 
 
 Steam-whistle heard. Every passenger now begins 
 the jerking, up-and-down motion peculiar to the cars. 
 This motion must be kept up by all, whatever they are 
 doing, and by every one who enters. 
 
 Enter Conductor with an immense badge on his hat, or 
 coat. Calls out " Have your tickets ready ! " Then 
 passes along the aisle, and calls out again, " Tickets ! " 
 The tickets must be large and absurd. Passengers take 
 them from pocket-books, gloves, &c. Fat old woman 
 fumbles long for hers in different bundles, finds it at last 
 in a huge leather pocket-book. Conductor, after nipping 
 the tickets, passes out. 
 
 Enter boy with papers, " Mornin' papers ! Herald, 
 Journal, Traveller!" (Business man buys one.) 
 "Mornin' papers ! Herald, Journal, Traveller !" (Clerk 
 buys one.) Paper boy passes out. Conductor appears, 
 calls out, " Warburton ! Warburton ! Passengers for 
 Bantam change cars ! " (Noise heard of brakes, jerking 
 motion ceases, school-girls leave, with those little hopping 
 motions peculiar to school-girls. Yankee moves nearer 
 fashionable miss. Two laborers enter. Steam-whistle 
 heard, jerking motion resumed.) Candy boy enters. 
 "Jessup's candy! All flavors! Five cents a stick!" 
 (Lady buys one for baby.) " Jessup's candy ! All fla 
 vors ! Lemon, vanilla, pineapple, strorbry ! " (Yan 
 kee buys one, offers half to fashionable miss. She de 
 clines. Crunches it himself.) Boy passes out. 
 
 Enter boy with picture-papers, which he distributes. 
 Some examine them, others let them lie. (Dandy buys
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 141 
 
 one.) Boy collects them and passes out. Enter a very 
 little ragged boy, with fiddle, or accordion. After play 
 ing awhile, passes round his hat. Most of the passengers 
 drop something in it. Exit boy. 
 
 Enter Conductor. " Tickets ! " Collects tickets. 
 (Steam-whistle heard.) Passengers pick up their things. 
 Curtain drops just as the last one goes out. (This scene 
 might be ended by the passengers, at a given signal, pull 
 ing their seats together, pitching over, and having the cur 
 tain fall on a smash-up.) 
 
 SECOND SYLLABLE. 
 
 LADY in morning-dress and jaunty breakfast-cap, sadly leaning her 
 head on her hand. On table near is toast, chocolate, Sfc. Enter 
 MAGGIE with tray. 
 
 Maggie. Ate a bit, mum, ate a bit. 'T will cheer ye 
 up like ! 
 
 Lady {looking up). No, no, I cannot eat. O, the 
 precious darling ! It is now seventeen hours since I saw 
 him last. Ah, he 's lost ! 
 
 Maggie. And did ye slape at arl, mum ? 
 
 Lady. Scarcely, Maggie. And in dreams I saw my 
 darling, chased by rude boys, or at the bottom of deep 
 waters, in filthy mud, eaten by fishes, or else mauled by 
 dreadful cats. Take away the untasted meal. I cannot, 
 cannot eat. 
 
 Exit MAGGIE with breakfast things. Enter MIKE with newspapers. 
 
 Mike. Mornin' paper, mum. 
 
 Lady (catching it, and looking eagerly up and down its 
 columns}. Let me see if he is found. O, here! "Found!
 
 142 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 A diamond pin on " Pshaw, diamond pin ! Here it 
 is. " Dog found ! Black and tan " Faugh, black 
 and tan ! My beauty was pure white. But, Mike 
 where's the notice of our darling's being lost? 
 
 Mike. Shure, an' it 's to the side o' the house I put it, 
 mum, arl writ in illegant sizey litters, mum. 
 
 Lady (in alarm). And did n't you go to the printers 
 at all? 
 
 Mike. Shure an' be n't it better out in the brard day 
 light, mum, laning aginst th' 'ouse convanient like, an' 
 aisy to see, mum ? 
 
 Lady. Mike, you've undone me! Quick! Pen, 
 ink, and paper. Quick ! I say. 
 Exit MIKE. 
 
 Lady (solus). It was but yesterday I held him in these 
 arms ! He licked my face, and took from my hand the 
 bits of chicken, and sipped of my chocolate. His little 
 black eyes looked up, O so brightly ! to mine. His little 
 tail, it wagged so happy ! O, dear, lovely one, where are 
 you now ? 
 
 Enter MIKE, with placard on long stick, with these words in very large 
 letters. 
 
 Dog Lost ! V Dollus ! ReeWarD ! InnQuire 
 Withinn ! Live oR DeD ! ! ! 
 
 Reads it aloud, very slowly, pointing with finger. 
 
 Mike. An' it 's meeself lamed the fine writin', mum 
 in th' ould counthry. 
 
 Lady (excited). Pray take that dreadful thing away, 
 and bring me pen and paper ! 
 
 Exit MIKE, muttering. Knock heard at door.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 143 
 
 Lady. Come ! 
 
 Enter MARKET-MAN, in blue/rock. 
 
 Market-man. Good day, ma'am. Heard you 'd lost a 
 dog. 
 
 Lady (eagerly, with hand extended). Yes, yes ! Where 
 is he ? 
 
 Market-man. Was he a curly, shaggy dog? 
 
 Lady. Yes ! yes ! Where did you find him ? 
 
 Market-man. Was your dog bright and playful ? 
 
 Lady (in an excited manner). O, very ! very ! 
 
 Market-man. Answered to the name of Carlo? 
 
 Lady. Yes ! He did ! he did ! O, if I had him in 
 these arms ! 
 
 Market-man (in surprise). Arms, ma'am ? Arms ? 
 'T is a Newfoundland dog ! He could carry you in his 
 arms ! 
 
 Lady (dejected). O cruel, cruel disappointment! 
 
 Market-man. What kind of a dog was yours ? 
 
 Ladg. O, a dear little lapdog. His curls were white 
 and soft as silk ! 
 
 Market-man (going). Good day, ma'am. If I see him, 
 I '11 fetch him. 
 
 Exit MARKET-MAN. MIKE enters with tvriting materials, and goes out 
 again. LADY begins to write, repeating the words she writes aloud 
 
 Lady. Lost, strayed, or stolen. A curly ( Tap at 
 door.) Come ! 
 
 Enter stupid-looking BOY, in scanty jacket and trousers, and too laryf 
 
 hat. 
 
 Lady. Did you wish to see me ? 
 Buy (drawling). Yes, ma'am. 
 Lady. About a dog?
 
 144 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS 
 
 Boy. Yes, ma'am. 
 
 Lady. Have you found one ? 
 
 Boy. Yes, ma'am. 
 
 Lady. Is it a very small dog ? 
 
 Boy. Yes, ma'am. 
 
 Lady. Sweet and playful ? 
 
 Boy. Yes, ma'am ? 
 
 Lady. Did you bring him with you ? 
 
 Boy. Ye.>, ma'am (pointing). Out there. 
 
 Zarfy (excited). O, bring him to me. Quick ! 0, if 
 it should be he ! If it should! (Boy brings in small 
 dog, yellow or Hack or spotted.) 
 
 Lady (in disgust). O, not that horrid creature ! Take 
 him away ! Take him away ! 
 
 Boy. Is n't that your dog ? 
 
 Lady. No ! no ! O, can't you take the horrid animal 
 away ? 
 
 Boy (going). Yes, ma'am. 
 
 Exit BOY vrith dog. LADY prepares to write. 
 Lady. Stupid thing ! Now I '11 write. (Repeats.) 
 
 LOST, STRAYED, OK STOLEN. A CURLY, WHITE ( Tap 
 
 at the door.) Come ! (Lays down pen.) 
 
 Enter ragged BOY, with covered basket. 
 
 Lady. Have you found a dog ? 
 
 Boy. No, I hain't found no dog. 
 
 Lady. Then what do you want ? 
 
 Boy. Father sells puppies. Father said if you'd lost 
 your dog, you'd want to buy one of 'em. Said you could 
 take your pick out o' the.-e 'ere five. (Opens basket for 
 her to look in.)
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 145 
 
 Lady (shuddering). Little wretches ! Away with 
 them ! 
 
 Boy. They '11 grow, father said, high 's the table. 
 
 Lady. Carry them off', can't you ? 
 
 Boy. Father wants to know what you '11 take for your 
 dog, running. Father said he 'd give a dollar, an' risk 
 the ketchin' on him. 
 
 Lady. Dollar ? No. Not if he were dead ! Not if I 
 knew he were drowned, and the fishes had eaten him, 
 would I sell my darling pet for a paltry dollar ! 
 
 Boy (going). Good mornin'. Guess I '11 be goiii'. If 
 I find your dog, I won't (aside) let you know. 
 Exit BOY, with bow and scrape. 
 
 Lady (writes again, and repeats). LOST, STRAYED, OR 
 STOLEN. A CUR (Knock at the door.) Come ! 
 (Lays down pen.) 
 
 Enter MRS. MULLIGAN. ' 
 
 Mrs. Mulligan. An' is it yourself lost a dog, thin ? 
 
 Lady (eagerly). Yes. A small, white, ^curly, silky 
 dog. Have you seen him ? 
 
 Mrs. MuUigan. Och, no. But 't was barkin' all night 
 he was, behint th' 'ouse. An' the b'ys, that 's me Pat 
 an' Tim, they drooned him, mum, bad luck to 'em, in the 
 morn in' arly. 
 
 Lndy. And did you see him ? 
 
 Mrs. Mulligan. No, shure. 
 
 Lady. And where is he now ? 
 
 Mrs. Mulligan. O, it 's safe he is, Pat tould me, to 
 the bottom o' No Bottom Pond, mum. 
 
 Lady. And how do you know 't is my dog ? 
 
 Mrs. MuUigan. Faith, an' whose dog should it be ; thin? 
 7 j
 
 146 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Lady. Send your boys, and I '11 speak with them. 
 Mrs. Mulligan (going). I '11 send them, mum. Morn- 
 iii' mum. 
 
 Exit MRS. MULLIGAN. Another tap at the door. 
 Lady. O, this is not to be borne ! Come ! 
 Enter COUNTRYWOMAN with band-box, not an old woman. 
 
 Lady (earnestly). If it 's about a dog, tell me all you 
 know at once ! Is he living ? 
 
 Countrywoman. Yes 'm, but he 's quite poorly. I think 
 dogs shows their sickness, same as human creturs do. 
 Course they have their feelin's. 
 
 Lady. Do tell quick. 
 
 Country woman. Just what I want, for I 'm in a hurry 
 myself. So I '11 jump right inter the thick on 't. You 
 see last night when my old man was ridin' out o' town in 
 his cart, with some o' his cabbages left over, for garden 
 sarse had n't been very brisk all day, and he was late a 
 comin' out on account o' the off ox bein' some lame, and 
 my old man ain't apt to hurry his critters, for a marciful 
 man is marciful to his beasts, you 
 
 Lady. But about the dog ! 
 
 Countrywoman. Wai, the old man was a ridin' along, 
 slow, you know, I alwers tell him he '11 never set the 
 great pond afire, and a countin' over his cabbage-heads 
 and settlin' the keg o' molasses amongst 'em, and a little 
 jug of (nods and winks and smiles), jest for a med 
 icine, you know. For we never do, I nor the old man, 
 never, 'xcept in case o' sickness. 
 
 Lady (impatiently). But what about the dog? 
 
 Countrywoman. Wai, he was a ridin' along, and jest
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 147 
 
 got to the outskirts o' the town, when he happened to see 
 two boys a squabblin' which* should have a dog, a little 
 teenty white curly mite of a cretur 
 
 Lady. Yes ! Go on ! Go on ! 
 
 Countrywoman. And he asked 'em would they take 
 fifty cents apiece and give it up. For he knew 't would 
 be rewarded in the newspapers. And they took the fifty. 
 
 Lady (eagerly); And what did he do with him ? 
 Where is he now ? 
 
 Countrywoman. Why, I was goin' to ride in with the 
 old man this mornin' to have my bunnet new done over, 
 and I took the dog along. And we happened to see that 
 'ere notice, and he and I together, we spelt it out ! 
 ( Opening bandbox.) Now look in here ! Snug as a bug, 
 right in the crown o' my bunnet. Seems poorly, but 
 he '11 pick up. {Takes out a white lapdog.)* 
 
 Lady (snatches him, and hugs and kisses him.) 'T is 
 my Carlo. O my precious, precious pet ! Ah, he is 
 too weak to move. I must feed him and put him to 
 sleep. (Rises to go out.) 
 
 Countrywoman. But the five dollars, marm ! 
 
 Lady. O, you must call again. I can't think of any 
 paltry five dollars, now. {Exit.) 
 
 Countrywoman (calling out). I'll wait, marm! 
 Enter MIKE. 
 
 Mike. An' what bisness are ye doin' here ? 
 
 Countrywoman. Waiting for my pay. 
 
 Mike. Pay, is it ? Och, she '11 niver pay the day. 
 She 's owin' me wages, an' owin' the cook, and Mrs. 
 
 * A white lapdog may be easily made of wool and wire.
 
 148 THE WILLIAM HfcMvY LETTERS. 
 
 Flarty that SCOOTS, and the millir,.ary lady, an' 't 5s " Carl 
 agin," she sez. " Carl agin." Caa't ye carl agin ?" 
 
 Countrywoman. Then I '11 get mine now. ( Takes off 
 shawl, and sits down. Takes out long blue stocking, and 
 goes to knitting, first pinning on her knitting -sheath. I 
 don't budge, without the pay. 
 
 MIKE looks on adnririnyly. Curtain drops. 
 
 WHOLE WORD. 
 
 CLERK standing behind counter, with shawls and various dry goods to 
 sell. Also rolls or pieces of carpet, oil and other kinds. Vunons 
 placards on the walk, " No credit." " Goods marked down ! " 
 frc. Enter OLD WOMAN. 
 
 Old Woman (speaking in rather high key). Do you 
 keep stockings ? 
 
 Clerk (handing box of stockings). O yes. Here are 
 some, very good quality. 
 
 Old Woman (examining them). Mighty thin, thew 
 be. 
 
 Clerk. I assure you, they are warranted to wear. 
 
 Old Woman. To wear out, I guess. 
 
 Enter YOUNG MARRIED COUPLE. 
 
 Clerk. Good morning. Can we sell you anything to 
 day ? 
 
 Wife (modestly). We wish to look at a few of your 
 carpets. 
 
 Clerk. This way, ma'am. 
 
 Husband. Hem ! ( Clearing his throat.) We will 
 look at something for parlors. 
 
 Clerk. Here is a Ptyle very much admired. ( Unrolls 
 carpet.) Elegant pattern. We import all our goods,
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRf JITTERS. 149 
 
 ma'am. That 's a firm piece of goods. You could n't do 
 better. We warrant it to wear. All fa?t colors. 
 
 Old Woman (coming near). A good rag carpet '11 
 wear out two o' that. 
 
 Wife {to Husband). I think it is a lovely pattern. 
 Don't you like it, Charley? 
 
 Husband. Hem well, I lu.ve seen prettier. But 
 then, 't is just as you say, dear. 
 
 Wife. no, Charley. 'T is just as you say. I 
 want to please you, dear. 
 
 Old Woman (to Clerk). Have you got any crash tow 
 elling ? 
 
 Husband. What 's the price of this carpet ? 
 
 Clerk. Three dollars a yard. Here 's another style 
 (unrolls another) just brought in. (Attends to Old 
 Woman.) 
 
 Husband (speaking to Wife). Perhaps we'd better 
 look at the other articles you wanted. (They go *o an 
 other part of the store, examining articles.) 
 
 Enter a spare, thin WOMAN, in plain dress and green vet! 
 
 Clerk. Can we sell you anything to-day ? 
 
 Woman. I was thinking of buying a carpet. 
 
 Clerk. Step this way, ma'am. (Shows them.) W~ 
 have all styles, ma'am. 
 
 Woman. I want one that will last. (Examining it.} 
 
 Clerk (taking hold of it). Firm as iron, ma'am. We've 
 sold five hundred pieces of that goods. If it don't wear, 
 we '11 agree to pay back the money. 
 
 Woman. I want one that won't show dirt. 
 
 Cleric. Warranted not to show dirt, ma'am. We 
 warrant all our goods.
 
 150 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Woman. Can it be turned ? 
 
 Glerk. Perfectly well, ma'am. 'T will turn as long as 
 there 's a bit of it left. 
 
 Woman. What do you ask ? 
 
 Clerk. "Well, we have been selling that piece of goods 
 for three fifty, but you may have it for three dollars. 
 
 Woman. Could n't you take less ? 
 
 Clerk. Could n't take a cent less. Cost more by 
 wholesale. 
 
 Woman. I think I '11 look further. ( Going.) 
 
 Clerk. Well, now seeing it 's the last piece, you may 
 have it for two fifty. 
 
 Woman. I was n't expecting to give over two dollars 
 a yard. ( Going.) 
 
 Clerk. Now I '11 tell you what I '11 do. Say two and 
 a quarter, and take it. 
 
 Woman. I have decided not to go over two dollars. 
 (Going.) 
 
 Clerk (crossly). Well. You can have it for that. But 
 we lose on it. In fact, we are selling now to keep the 
 trade, nothing else. Twenty-five yards ? I '11 measure 
 it directly. 
 
 Old Woman. Have you got any cotton flannel ? 
 
 Enter FASHIONABLE LADY. 
 
 Clerk (all attention, bowing). Good morning, madam. 
 Can we sell you anything to-day ? 
 
 Fashionable Lady. I am looking at carpets this morn 
 ing. Have you anything new ? 
 
 Clerk. This way, madam. We have several new lots, 
 just imported. (Shows one.)
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 151 
 
 Fashionable Lady. It must light up well, or it will 
 never ?uit me. 
 
 Clerk. Lights up beautifully, madam. 
 
 Fashionable. Lady. Is this real tapestry ? 
 
 Clerk. O, certainly, madam. We should n't thin of 
 showing you any other. 
 
 Fashionable Lady. What 's the price ? 
 
 Clerk. Well, this is a Persian pattern, and we can't 
 offer it for less than six dollars. Mrs. Topothetree 
 bought one off the same piece. 
 
 Fashionable Lady. 'T is a lovely thing, and when a 
 carpet suits me, the price is no objection. 
 
 Old Woman (coming forward). Have you got any 
 remnants ? I wanted to get a strip to lay down afore 
 the fire. (Speaking to Lady.) Goin' to give six dollars 
 a yard for that ? Guess you better larn how to make a 
 rag carpet. Fust, take your old coats and trousers, and 
 strip 'em up inter narrer strips, and jine the strips to 
 gether, and wind all that up in great balls. That's 
 your warp. Then take coarse yarn and color it all 
 colors. That's your fillin'. Then hire your carpet 
 wove, and that carpet '11 last. 
 
 Enter POLICEMAN and a GENTLEMAN. 
 
 Gentleman (pointing to Fashionable Lady). That is 
 the person. 
 
 Policeman (placing his hand on her shoulder). This 
 gentleman, madam, thinks you have borrowed a quan 
 tity of his lace good*. 
 
 Fashionable Lady (ivith air of astonishment). I ? Im 
 possible ! Impossible, sir !
 
 152 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Gentleman. I am sure of it. 
 
 Policeman. Will you have the goodness, madam, to 
 come with us ? 
 
 Curtain drops, while all are gazing at each other in amazement. 
 
 I procured a copy of the above charade for little Silas. 
 There was a sociable, one evening, at his school, got up for 
 the purpose of raising money to buy a melodeon, or a sera- 
 phine, I don't know which. I never do know which is a 
 melodeon and which is a seraphine. I have an idea the 
 first sounds more melodious. 
 
 They wanted a charade to act, and I sent them this of Wil 
 liam Henry's. Silas took the character of the fellow from the 
 country. They liked the charade very much. The brake- 
 man had the forward wheels of a baby carriage for his brakes. 
 Of course only one of the wheels was seen, and he made a 
 great ado turning it. 
 
 At the end the cars ran off the track, and the curtain fell 
 upon a general smash-up. 
 
 William Henry to his Grandmother. 
 
 DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 The puddles bear in the morning and next thing the 
 pond will, and I want to have my skates here all ready. 
 'Most all the boys have got all theirs already, waiting 
 for it to freeze. They hang up on that beam in the sink- 
 room chamber. Look under my trainer trousers that I 
 had to play trainer in when I 's a little chap, on that 
 great wooden peg, and you Ml find 'em hanging up under 
 the trousers. And my sled too, for Dorry and I are 
 going to have double-runner together soon as snow 
 comes. It 's down cellar. We went to be weighed, and
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 153 
 
 the man said I was built of solid timber. Dorry he hid 
 some great iron dumb-bells in his pockets for fun, and 
 the man first he looked at Dorry and then at the figures, 
 and then at his weights ; he did n't know what to make 
 of it. For I 've grown so much faster that we 're almost 
 of a size. 
 
 First of it Dorry kept a sober face, but pretty soon he 
 began to laugh, and took the dumb-bells out, and then 
 weighed over, and guess what we weighed ? 
 
 The fellers call us " Dorry & Co.." because we keep 
 together so much. When he goes anywhere he says 
 " Come, Sweet William ! " and when I go anywhere I 
 say " Come, Old Dorrymas ! " There 's a flower named 
 Sweet William. There is n't any fish named Dorrymas, 
 but there 's one named Gurrymas. We keep our goodies 
 in the same box, and so we do our pencils and the rest 
 of our traps. His bed is 'most close to mine, and the 
 one that wakes up first pulls the other one's hair. One 
 boy that comes here is a funny-looking chap, and wears 
 cinnamon-colored clothes, all faded out. He is n't a very 
 big feller. He has his clothes given to him. He comes 
 days and goes home nights, for he lives in this town. 
 He 's got great eyes and a great mouth, and always looks 
 as if he was just a-going to laugh. Sometimes when the 
 boys go by him they make a noise, sniff, sniff, sniff, with 
 their noses, making believe they smelt something spicy, 
 like cinnamon. I hope you '11 find my skates, and send 
 'em right off, for fear the pond might freeze over. They 
 hang on that great wooden peg in the sink-room cham 
 ber, that sticks in where two beams come together, under 
 my trainer trousers ; you '11 see the red stripes. 
 7*
 
 154 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Some of us have paid a quarter apiece to get a foot 
 ball, and should n't you think 't was real mean for any 
 body to back out, and then come to kick ? One feller 
 did. And he was one of the first ones to get it up too. 
 " Let 's get up a good one while we 're about it," says he, 
 " that won't kick right out." Dorry went to pick it out, 
 and took his own money, and all the rest paid in their 
 quarter?, and what was over the price we took in pea 
 nuts. O, you ought to 've seen that bag of peanuts ! 
 Held about half a bushel. When he found the boys 
 were talking about him he told somebody that when any 
 body said, " Let 's get up something," it was n't just the 
 same as to say he 'd pay part. But we say 't is. And 
 we talked about it down to the Two Betseys' shop, and 
 Lame Betsey said 't was mean doings enough, and The 
 Other Betsey said, " Anybody that won't pay their part, 
 I don't care who they be." And I 've seen him eating 
 taffy three times and more, too, since then, and figs. 
 And he comes and kicks sometimes, and when they 
 offered some of the peanuts to him, to see if he 'd take 
 any, he took some. 
 
 Now Spicey won't do that. We said he might kick, 
 but he don't want to, not till he gets his quarter. He 's 
 going to earn it. If my skates don't hang up on that 
 wooden peg, like enough Aunt Phebe's little Tommy 's 
 been fooling with 'em. Once he did, and they fell through 
 that hole where a piece of the floor is broke out. You 'd 
 better look down that hole. I 'm going to send home my 
 Report next time. I could n't get perfect every time. 
 Dorry says if a feller did that, he 'd know too much to 
 come to school. But there *s some that do. Not very
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 155 
 
 many. Spicey did four days running. I could 'a got 
 more perfects, only one time I didn't know how far. to 
 get, and another time I did n't hear what the question 
 was he put out to me, and another time I did n't stop to 
 think and answered wrong when 1 knew just as well as 
 could be. And another time I missed in the rules. You 
 better believe they are hard things to get. Bubby Short 
 says he wishes they 'd take out the rules and let us do 
 our sums in peace, and so I say. And then one more 
 time some people came to visit the school, and they 
 looked right in my face, when the question came to me, 
 and put me out. I should n't think visitors would look a 
 feller right in the face, when he 's trying to tell some 
 thing. Dorry says that I blushed up as red as fire-coals. 
 I guess a red-header blushes up redder than any other 
 kind ; don't you ? I had some taken off my Deport 
 ment, because I laughed out loud. I did n't mean to, 
 but 1 'm easy to laugh. But Dorry he can keep a sober 
 face just when he wants to, and so can Bubby Short. I 
 was laughing at Bubby Short. He was snapping apple- 
 seeds at Old Wonder Boy's cheeks, and he could n't tell 
 who snapped 'em, for Bubby Short would be studying 
 away, just as sober. At last one hit hard, and W. B. 
 jumped and shook his fist at the wrong feller, and I felt 
 a laugh coming, and puckered my mouth up, and twisted 
 round, but first thing I knew, out it came, just as sudden, 
 and that took off some. 
 
 I shall keep the Report till next time, because this 
 time I 'm going to send mine and Dorry's photographs 
 taken together. We both paid half. We got it taken 
 in a saloon that travels about on wheels. 'T is stopping
 
 156 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 here now. Course we did n't expect to look very hand- 
 some. But the man says 't is wonderful what handsome 
 pictures homely folks expect to make. Says he tells 
 'em he has to take what 's before him. Dorry says he 's 
 sure we look very well for the first time taking. Says 
 it needs practice to make a handsome picture. Please 
 send it back soon because he wants to let his folks see it. 
 Send it when you send the skates. Send the skates soon 
 as you can, for fear the pond might freeze over. Aunt 
 Phebe's little Tommy can have my old sharp-shooter for 
 his own, if he wants it. Remember me to my sister. 
 Your affectionate Grandson, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 As the photograph above mentioned had altogether too 
 serious an expression, a younger one was used in drawing the 
 picture for the frontispiece. Neither of the three do him jus 
 tice, as neither of the three can give his merry laugh. 
 
 Grandmother to William Henry. 
 
 MY DEAR BOY, 
 
 Your father and all of us were very glad to see that 
 photograph, for it seemed next thing to seeing you, you 
 dear child We could n't bear to send it away so soon. 
 I kept it on the mantel-piece, with my spectacles close 
 by, so that when I went past it I could take a look. 
 We sent word in to your aunt Phebe and in a few min 
 utes little Tommy came running across and said his 
 " muzzer said he must bwing Billy's Pokerdaff in, wight 
 off." But I told him to tell his muzzer that Billy's Pok 
 erdaff must be sent back very soon, and was n't going
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 157 
 
 out of my sight a minute while it stayed, and they must 
 come in. And they did. We all think 't is a very nat 
 ural picture, only too sober. You ought to try to look 
 smiling at such times. I wish you 'd had somebody to 
 pull down your jacket, and see to your collar's being 
 even. But Aunt Phebe says 't is a wonder you look as 
 well as you do, with no woman to fix you. I should 
 know Dorry's picture anywhere. Uncle Jacob wants to 
 know what you were both so cross about ? Says you 
 look as if you 'd go to fighting the minute you got up. 
 
 Little Tommy is tickled enough with that sled, and 
 keeps looking up in the sky to see when snow is coming 
 down, and drags it about on the bare ground, if we don't 
 watch him. 
 
 I had almost a good mind to keep the skates at home. 
 Boys are so venturesome. They always think there 's 
 no danger. I said to your father, " Now if anything 
 should happen to Billy I should wish X|e 'd never sent 
 them." But he 's always afraid I shall make a Miss 
 Nancy of you. Now I don't want to do that. But 
 there 's reason in all things. And a boy need n't drown 
 himself to keep from being a Miss Nancy; He thinks 
 you 've got sense enough not to skate on thin ice, and 
 says the teachers won't allow you to skate if the pond 
 is n't safe. But I don't have faith in any pond being 
 safe. My dear boy, there 's danger even if the ther 
 mometer is below zero. There may be spring-holes. 
 Never was a boy got drowned yet skating, but what 
 thought there was no danger. Do be careful. I know 
 you would if you only knew how I keep awake nightg 
 worrying about you.
 
 158 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Anyb idy would think that your uncle Jacob had more 
 money than he knew how to spend. He went to the 
 city last week, and brought Georgiana home a pair of 
 light blue French kid boots. He won't tell the price. 
 They are high-heeled, very narrow-soled, and come up 
 high. He saw them in the window of one of the grand 
 stores, and thought he 'd just step in and buy them for 
 Georgie. Never thought of their coming so high. I 'm 
 speaking of the price. Now Georgie doesn't go to par 
 ties, and where the child can w^ar them, going through 
 thick and thin, is a puzzler. She might to meeting, if 
 she could be lifted out of the wagon and set down in 
 the broad aisle, but Lucy Maria says that won't do, be 
 cause her meeting dress is cherry-color. Next summer 
 I shall get her a light blue barege dress to match 'em, 
 for the sake of pleasing her uncle Jacob. When he 
 heard us talking about her not going anywhere to wear 
 such fancy boots, he said then she should wear them over 
 to his house. So twice he has sent a billet in the morn 
 ing, inviting her to come and take tea, and at the bottom 
 he writes, ^ip"'' Company expected to appear in blue 
 boots.'Mggi So I dress her up in her red dress, and the 
 boots, and draw my plush moccasins over them, and pack 
 her off. Uncle Jacob takes her things, and waits upon 
 her to the table, and they have great fun out of it. 
 
 My dear Billy, I have been thinking about that boy 
 that wears cinnamon-colored clothes. I do really hope 
 you won't be so cruel as to laugh at a boy on account of 
 his clothes. What a boy is, don't depend upon what he 
 wears on his back, but upon what he has inside of his 
 head and his heart. When I was a little girl and went
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 159 
 
 to school in the old school-house, the Committee used to 
 come, sometimes, to visit the school. One of the Com 
 mittee was the minister. He was a very fine old gentle 
 man, and a great deal thought of by the whole town. 
 He used to wear a ruffled shirt, and a watch with a 
 bunch of seals, and carry a gold-headed cane. He had 
 white hair, and a mild blue eye, and a pleasant smile, 
 that I have n't forgotten yet, though 't was a great many 
 years ago. After we 'd read and spelt, and the writing- 
 books and ciphering-books had been passed round, the 
 teacher always asked him to address the school. And 
 there was one thing he used to say, almost every time. 
 And he said it in such a smiling, pleasant way, that I 've 
 remembered it ever since. He used to begin in this 
 way. 
 
 " I love little children. I love to come where they are. 
 I love to hear them laugh, and shout. I love to watch 
 them while they are at play. And because I love them 
 so well, I don't want there should be anything bad about 
 them. Just as when I watch a rosebud blooming; I 
 should be very sorry not to have it bloom out into a beau 
 tiful, perfect rose. And now, children, there are three 
 words I want you all to remember. Only three. You 
 can remember three words, can't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," we would say. 
 
 *' Well, now, how long can you remember them ? " he 
 would ask, "a week ? " 
 
 Yes, sir " 
 
 " Two weeks ? " 
 
 * Yes, sir." 
 
 "A month?"
 
 160 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " A year ? " 
 
 " Guess so." 
 
 " All your lives ? " 
 
 Then some would say, " Yes, sir," and some would say 
 they guessed not, and some didn't believe they could, 
 and some knew they could n't. 
 
 " Well, children," he would say at last, " now I will 
 tell you what the three words are : Treat everybody 
 ' well. Now what I want you to be surest to remem 
 ber is ' everybody.' Everybody is a word that takes in 
 a great many people, and a great many kinds of people, 
 takes in the washer-women and the old man that saws 
 wood, and the colored folks that come round selling bas 
 kets, and the people that wear second-hand clothes, and 
 the help in the kitchen, takes in those we don't like 
 and even the ones that have done us harm. ' Treat 
 everybody well.' For you can afford to. A pleasant 
 word don't cost anything to give, and is a very pleasant 
 thing to take." 
 
 The old gentleman used to look so smiling while he 
 talked. And he followed out his own rule. For he was 
 just as polite to the poor woman that came to clean their 
 paint as he was to any fine lady. He wanted to make us 
 feel ashamed of being impolite to people who could n't 
 wear good clothes. Children and grown people too, he 
 said, were apt to treat the ones best that wore the best 
 clothes. He 'd seen children, and grown folks too, who 
 would be all smiles and politeness to the company, and 
 then be ugly and snappish to poor people they 'd hired to 
 work for them. A real lady or gentleman, he used tg
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 161 
 
 end off with this, "A real lady, and a real gentleman 
 will treat everybody well." And I will end off 
 with this too. And don't you ever forget it. For that 
 you may be, my dear boy. a true gentleman is the wish of 
 
 Your loving Grandmother. 
 
 P. S. Do be careful when you go a skating. If the 
 ice is ever so thick, there may be spring-holes. Your 
 father wants you to have a copy of that picture taken for 
 us to keep, and sends this money to pay for it. I forgot 
 to say that of course it is mean for a boy not to pay his 
 part. And for a boy not to pay his debts is mean, and 
 next kin to stealing. And the smaller the debts are the 
 meaner it is. We are all waiting for your Report. 
 
 I did not think it at all strange that Uncle Jacob should buy 
 the blue boots. It is just what I would like to do myself. I 
 never go past one of those wonderful shoe-store windows, and 
 look at the bright array of blue, yellow, and red, without wish 
 ing I had six little gHs, with six little pairs of feet. For then 
 I should have half a dozen excuses to go in and buy, and now 
 I have n't one. 
 
 Georgie's boots looked pretty, with the nice white stockings 
 her grandmother knit. And I could n't see any harm in her 
 wearing a red dress with them. The red, white, and blue 
 are the best colors in the world for me, and I '11 never turn 
 against them ! 
 
 " Three cheers for the Red, White, and Blue ! " 
 
 William Henry to his Grandmother. 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 Excuse me for not writing before. Here is my Re 
 port. I have n't sniffed my nose up any at Spicey. I '11
 
 162 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 tell you why. Because I remember when I first came, and 
 had a red head, and how bad 't was to be plagued all the 
 time. But I tell you if he is n't a queer-looking chap ! 
 Don't talk any, hardly, but he 's great for laughing. 
 Bubby Short says his mouth laughs itself. But not out 
 loud. Dorry says 't is a very wide smile. It comes easy 
 to him, any way. He comes in laughing and goes out 
 laughing. When you meet him he laughs, and when you 
 speak to him he laughs. When he don't know the an 
 swer he laughs, and when he says right he laugh?, and 
 when you give him anything he laughs, and when he 
 gives you anything he laughs. Though he don't have 
 very much to give. But he can't say no. All the boys 
 tried one day to see if they could make him say no. He 
 had an apple, and they went up to him, one at once, and 
 said, " Give me a taste." " Give me a taste," till 't was 
 every bit tasted away Then they tried him on slate- 
 pencils, his had bully points to them, and he gave 
 every one away, all but one old stump. But afterwards 
 Mr. Augustus said 't was a shame, and the boys carried 
 him back the pencils and said they 'd done with 'em. 
 Dorry says he 's going to ask him for his nose some day, 
 and then see what he '11 do. I know. Laugh. You 
 better believe he 's a clever chap. And he won't kick. 
 Dorry likes him for that. Not till he 's paid his quarter. 
 Mr. Augustus offered him the quarter, but he said, No, 
 I thank you. "Why not?" Mr. Augustus asked him. 
 He said he guessed he 'd rather earn it. We expect the 
 teacher heard about it, and guess he heard about that fel 
 ler that would n't pay his part, and about his borrowing 
 and not paying back, for one day he addressed the school
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 163 
 
 about money, and he said no boy of spirit, or man either, 
 would ever take money as a gift, long as he was able to 
 earn. Course he did n't mean what your fathers give 
 you, and Happy New Year's Day, and all that. And to 
 borrow and not pay was mean as dirt, besides being 
 wicked. He 'd heard of people borrowing little at a time 
 and making believe forget to pay, because they knew 
 't would n't be asked for. The feller I told you about 
 the one that kicks and don't pay he owes Gapper Sky 
 Blue for four seed-cakes. Mr. Augustus says that what 
 makes it mean is, that he knows Gapper won't ask for 
 two cents ! Gapper let him have 'em for two cents, be 
 cause he 'd had 'em a good while and the edges of 'em were 
 some crumbly. And he borrowed six cents from Dorry 
 and knows Dorry won't say anything ever, and so he 's 
 trying to keep from paying. I guess his left ear burns 
 sometimes ! 
 
 Gapper can't go round now, selling cakes, because 
 he 's lame, and has to go with two canes. But he keeps 
 a pig, and he and little Rosy make tiptop molasses candy 
 to sell in sticks, one-centers and two-centers, and sell 'em 
 to the boys when they go up there to coast. I tell you 
 if 't is n't bully coasting on that hill back of his house ! 
 We begin way up to the tip-top and go way down and 
 then across a pond that is n't there only winters and then 
 into a lane, a sort of downish lane, that goes ever so far. 
 Bubby Short 'most got run over by a sleigh. He was 
 going " knee-hacket " and did n't see where he was going 
 to, and went like lightning right between the horses' 
 legs, and did n't hurt him a bit. 
 
 Last night when the moon shone the teachers let us
 
 164 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 go out, and they went too, and some of their wives and 
 some girls. O, if we did n't have the fun ! We had a 
 great horse-sled, and we 'd drag it way up to the top, 
 and then pile in. Teachers and boys and women and 
 girls, all together, and away we 'd go. Once it 'most 
 tipped over. 0, I never did see anything scream so 
 loud as girls can when they 're scared ? I wish 't 
 would be winter longer than it is. We have a Debating 
 Society. And the question we had last was, " Which is 
 the best, Summer or Winter ? " And we got so fast for 
 talking, and kept interrupting so, the teacher told the 
 Summers to go on one side and the Winters on the 
 other, and then take turns firing at each other, one shot 
 at a time. And Dorry was chosen Reporter to take 
 notes, but I don't know as you can read them, he was in 
 such a hurry. 
 
 " In summer you can fly kites. 
 
 " In winter you can skate. 
 
 " In summer you have longer time to play. 
 
 " In winter you have best fun coasting evenings. 
 
 " In summer you can drive hoop and sail boats. 
 
 " In winter you can snow-ball it and have darings. 
 
 " In summer you can go in swimming, and play ball. 
 
 " In winter you can coast and make snow-forts. 
 
 " In summer you can go a fishing. 
 
 " So you can in winter, with pickerel traps to catch 
 pickerel and perch on the ponds, and on rivers. When 
 the fish come up you can make a hole in the ice and set 
 a light to draw 'em, and then take a jobber and job 'em 
 as fast as you 're a mind to. 
 
 " In summer you can go take a saiL
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 165 
 
 " In winter you can go take a sleigh-ride. 
 
 " In summer you don't freeze to death. 
 
 " In winter you don't get sunstruck. 
 
 " In summer you see green trees and flowers and hear 
 the birds sing. 
 
 " In winter the snow falling looks pretty as green 
 leaves, and so do the icicles on the branches, when the 
 sun shines, and we can hear the sleigh-bells jingle. 
 
 " In summer you have green peas and fruit, and 
 huckleberries and other berries. 
 
 " In winter you have molasses candy and pop-corn 
 and mince-pies and preserves and a good many more 
 roast turkeys, (another boy interrupting) and all kinds 
 of everything put up air-tight ! 
 
 (Teacher.) Order, order, gentlemen. One shot at a 
 time. 
 
 " In summer you have Independent Day, and that 's 
 the best day there is. For if it had n't been for that, 
 we should have to mind Queen Victoria. 
 
 " In winter you have Thanksgiving Day and Fore 
 father's Day and Christmas and Happy New-Year Day 
 and the Twenty-second of February, and that 's Wash 
 ington's Birthday. And if it had n't been for that we 
 should have to mind Queen Victoria." 
 
 When the time was up the teacher told all that had 
 changed their minds to change their sides, and some of 
 the Summers came over to ours, but the Winters all 
 stayed. Then the teacher made some remarks, and said 
 how glad we ought to be that there were different kinds 
 of fun and beautiful things all the year round. Bubby 
 Short says he 's sure he 's glad, for if a feller could n't
 
 166 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 have fun what would he do? After we got out doors 
 the summer ones that did n't go over hollered out to the 
 other ones that did, " Ho ! ho ! Winter killed ! Winter 
 killed ! 'Fore I 'd be Winter killed ! Frost bit ! Frost 
 bit ! 'Fore I 'd be Frost bit ! " 
 
 I should like to see my sister's blue boots. I am very 
 careful when I go a skating. There is n't any spring- 
 hole in our pond. I don't know where my handker 
 chiefs go to. 
 
 Your affectionate Grandson, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. Don't keep awake. I '11 look out. Bubby 
 Short's folks write just so to him. And Dorry's. I 
 wonder what makes everybody think boys want to be 
 drowned ? 
 
 The boys must have been much interested in that " Debat 
 ing Society." When William Henry was at home he fre 
 quently started a question, and called upon all to take sides. 
 
 Georgiana to William Henry. 
 
 MY DEAK BROTHER, 
 
 Yesterday I went to Aunt Phebe's to eat supper, and 
 had on my light blue boots Uncle Jacob brought me 
 when he went away. He dragged me over because 
 't was snowing, for he said the party could n't be put off 
 because they had got all ready. But the party was n't 
 anybody but me, but he 's all the time funning. Aunt 
 Phebe's little Tommy he had some new rubber boots, 
 but they did n't get there till after supper, and then 
 't was 'most his bedtime. But he got into the boots and
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 167 
 
 walked all round with them after his nightgown was on, 
 and the nightgown hung down all over the rubber boots. 
 And when they wanted to put him in his crib he did n't 
 want to take them off, so Uncle Jacob said better let 
 the boots stay on till he got asleep, and then pull 'em 
 off softly as she could. Then they put him in the crib 
 and let the boots stick out one side, without any bed 
 clothes being put over them. But we guessed he dreamed 
 about his boots, because soon as they pulled 'em a little 
 bit, he reached down to the boots and held on. But 
 when he got sound asleep then she pulled 'em off softly 
 and stood 'em up in the corner. I carried my work with 
 me, and 't was the handkerchief that is going to be put 
 in this letter. Aunt Phebe thinks some of the stitches 
 are quite nice. She says you must excuse that one in 
 the corner, not where your name is, but next one to it. 
 The snow-storm was so bad I stayed all night, and they 
 made some corn-balls, and Uncle Jacob passed them round 
 to me first, because I was the party, in the best waiter. 
 
 And we had a good time seeing some little pigs that 
 the old pig stepped on, six little pigs, about as big as 
 puppies, that had little tails, and she would n't take a 
 mite of care of them. She won't let them get close up 
 to her to keep warm, and keeps a stepping on 'em all the 
 time, and broke one's leg. She 's a horrid old pig, and 
 Uncle Jacob was afraid they might freeze to death in the 
 night, and Aunt Phebe found a basket, a quite large 
 basket, and put some cotton-wool in it. Then put in the 
 pigs. When 't was bedtime some bricks were put on the 
 stove, and then he put the basket with the little pigs in 
 it on top of the bricks, but put ashes on the fire first, so
 
 1C8 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 they could keep warm all night. And in the night they 
 kept him awake, making little squealy noises, and he 
 thought the fire would get hot and roast them, and once 
 one climbed up over and tumbled down on to the floor 
 and 'most killed himself so he died afterwards. And he 
 says he feels very sleepy to-day, watching with the little 
 pigs all night. For soon as 't was daylight, and before 
 too, Tommy jumped out and cried to have his rubber 
 boots took into bed with him, and then the roosters crowed 
 so loud in the hen-house close to his bedroom window 
 that he could n't take a nap. He told me to send to you 
 in my letter a question to talk about where you did about 
 summer and winter. Why do roosters crow in the morning? 
 
 Two of the little pigs were dead in the morning, beside 
 that one that killed itself dropping down, and now two 
 more are dead. She is keeping this last one in a warm 
 place, for they don't dare to let it go into the pig-sty, for 
 fear she would step on it or eat it up, for he says she 's 
 worse than a cannibal. But I don't know what that is. 
 He says they kill men and eat them alive, but I guess 
 he 's funning. She dips a sponge in milk and lets that 
 last little pig suck that sponge. 
 
 Grandmother wants to know if little Ro<y has got any 
 good warm mittens. Wants to know if Mr. Sky Blue 
 has. And you must count your handkerchiefs every 
 week, she says. Little Tommy went out with his rubber 
 boots, and waded way into such a deep snow-bank he 
 could n't get himself out, and when they lifted him up 
 they lifted him right out of his rubber boots. Then he 
 cried. Tommy's cut off a piece of his own hair. 
 Your affectionate sister, 
 
 GEORGIANA.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 169 
 
 William Henry to his Sister. 
 
 MY DEAR SISTER, 
 
 You can tell Grandmother that Lame Betsey knit a pair 
 for Gapper Sky Blue, blue ones with white spots, and little 
 Rosy has got an old pair. You are a very good little girl 
 to hem handkerchiefs. I think you hemmed that one very 
 well. It came last night, and we looked for that long 
 stitch to excuse it, and Dorry said it ought to be, for he 
 guessed that was the stitch that saved nine. When the 
 letter came, Dorry and Bubby Short and Old Wonder 
 Boy and I were sitting together, studying. When I read 
 about the pigs I, tell you if they did n't laugh ! And 
 when that little piggy dropped out of the basket Bubby 
 Short dropped down on the floor and laughed so loud we 
 had to stop him. Dorry said, "Let's play have a De 
 bating Society, and take Uncle Jacob's question." And 
 we did. First Old Wonder Boy stood up. And he said 
 they crowed in the morning to tell people *t was time to 
 get up and to let everybody know they themselves were 
 up and stirring about. Said he 'd lain awake mornings, 
 down in Jersey, and listened and heard 'em say just as 
 plain as day. "I'm up and you ought to, too! And 
 you ought to, too ! " 
 
 Then Bubby Short stood up and said he thought they 
 were telling the other ones to keep in their own yards, 
 and not be flying over where they did n't belong. Said 
 he 'd lain awake in the morning and heard 'em say, just 
 as plain as day, "If you do, I'll give it to you! I'll 
 give it to you oo oo oo ! " 
 
 But a little chap that had come to hear what was going 
 8
 
 170 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 on said 't was more likely they were daring each other 
 to come on and fight. For he 'd lain awake in the morn 
 ing and listened and heard 'em say, " Come on if you 
 dare, for I can whip you oo oo ! " 
 
 Then 't was my turn, and I stood up and said I guessed 
 the best crower kept a crowing school, and was showing 
 all the young ones how to scale up and down, same as 
 the singing-master did. For I 'd lain awake in the morn 
 ing and heard first the old one crow, and then the little 
 ones try to. And heard the old one say, just as plain as 
 day, " Open your mouth wide and do as I do ! Do as I 
 do ! " and then the young ones say, " Can't quite do so ! 
 Can't quite do so ! " 
 
 Dorry said he never was wide awake enough in the 
 morning to hear what anybody said, but he 'd always un 
 derstood they were talking about the weather, and giving 
 the hens their orders for the day, telling which to lay and 
 which to set, and where the good places were to steal 
 nests, and where there 'd been anything planted they could 
 scratch up again, and how to bring up their chickens, and 
 to look out and not hatch ducks' eggs. 
 
 The teacher opened the door then to see if we were all 
 studying our lessons, so the Debating Society stopped. 
 
 Should you like to hear about our going to take a great 
 big sleigh-ride? The whole school went together in 
 great big sleighs with four horses. We had flags flying, 
 and I tell you if 't was n't a bully go ! We went ten 
 miles. We went by a good many schoolhouses, where 
 the boys were out, and they 'd up and hurrah, and then 
 we'd hurrah back again. And one lot of fellers, if they 
 did n't let the snowballs fly at us ! And we wanted our
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 171 
 
 driver to stop, and let us give it to 'em good. But he 
 would n't do it. One little chap hung his sled on behind 
 
 and could n't get it unhitched again, for some of our fel 
 lers kept hold, and we carried him off" more than a mile. 
 Then he began to cry. Then the teacher heard him, and 
 had the sleigh stopped, and took him in and he went all 
 the way with us. He lost his mittens trying to unhitch 
 it, and his hands ached, but he made believe laugh, and 
 we put him down in the bottom to warm 'em in the 
 hay. We 'most ran over an old beggar-woman, in one 
 place between two drifts, where there was n't very much 
 room to turn out. I guess she was deaf. We all stood 
 up and shouted and bawled at her and the driver held 'em 
 in tight. And just as their noses almost touched her she 
 looked round, and then she was so scared she did n't know 
 what to do, but just stood still to let herself be run over. 
 But the driver hollered and made signs for her to stand 
 close up to the drift, and then there 'd be room enough. 
 When I got home I found my bundle and the tin box 
 rolled up in that new jacket, with all that good jelly in 
 it. Old Wonder Boy peeped in and says he, " O, there 's 
 quite some jelly in there, is n't there ? " He says dowp
 
 172 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 in Jersey they make nice quince-jelly out of apple-par 
 ings, and said 't was true, for he 'd eaten some. Dorry 
 said he knew that was common in Ireland, but never 
 knew 't was done in this country. Dorry sa/s you must 
 keep us posted about the last of the piggies. Keep 
 your pretty blue boots nice for Brother Billy to see, 
 won't you ? Thank you for hemming that pretty hand 
 kerchief. I 've counted my handkerchiefs a good many 
 times, but counting 'em don't make any difference. 
 From your affectionate Brother, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 The course of true love it seems did not always run smooth 
 with Dorry and William Henry. 
 
 William Henry to his Grandmother. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 This is only a short letter that I am going to write to 
 you, because I don't feel like writing any. But when I 
 don't write then you think I have the measles, else 
 drowned in the pond, and I '11 write a little, but I frel so 
 sober I don't feel like writing very much. I suppose 
 you will say, what are you feeling so sober about ? 
 Well, seems if I did n't have any fun now, for Dorry and 
 I we Ve got mad at each other. And he don't hardly 
 speak to me, and I don't to him either ; and if he don't 
 want to he need n't, for I don't mean to be fooling round 
 ini, and trying to get him to, if he don't want to. 
 
 Last night we all went out to coast, and the teachers 
 and a good many ladies and girls, and we were going to 
 see which was the champion sled. But something else
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 173 
 
 happened first. The top of the hill was all bare, and 
 before they all got there some of the fellers were scuf 
 fling together for fun, and Dorry and I we tried to take 
 each other down. First of it 't was all in fun, but then 
 it got more in earnest, and he hit me in the face so hard 
 it made me mad, and I hit him and he got mad too. 
 
 Then we began to coast, for the people had all got 
 there. Dorry's and mine were the two swiftest ones, 
 and we kept near each other, but his slewed round some, 
 and he said I hit it with my foot he guessed, and then 
 we had some words, and I don't know what we did both 
 say ; but now we keep away from each other, and it 
 seems so funny I don't know what to do. The teacher 
 asked me to go over to the stable to-day, for he lost a 
 bunch of compositions and thought they might have 
 dropped out of his pocket, when we went to take that 
 sleigh-ride. And I was just going to say, " Come on, 
 Old Dorrymas ! " before I thought. 
 
 But 't is the funniest in the morning. This morning 
 I waked up early, and he was fast asleep, and I thought, 
 Now you '11 catch it, old fellow, and was just a going to 
 pull his hair ; but in a minute I remembered. Then I 
 dressed myself and thought I would take a walk out. I 
 went just as softly by his bed and stood still there a 
 minute and set out to give a little pull, for I don't feel
 
 174 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 half so mad as I did the first of it, but was afraid he did. 
 So I went out-doors and looked round. Went as far as 
 the Two Betseys' Shop and was going by, but The 
 Other Betsey stood at the door shaking a mat, aud called 
 to me, " Billy, where are you going to ? " 
 
 " Only looking round," I said. She told me to come 
 in and warm me, and I thought I would go in just a 
 minute or two. Lame Betsey was frying flapjacks in 
 a spider, a little mite of a spider, for breakfast. She 
 spread butter on one and made me take it to eat in a 
 saucer, and I never tasted of a better flapjack. There 
 was a cinnamon colored jacket hanging on the chair- 
 back, and I said, " Why, that 's Spicey's jacket ! " 
 " Who ? " they cried out both together. Then I 
 called him by his right name, Jim Mills. He 's 
 some relation to them, and his mother is n't well enough 
 to mend all his clothes, so Lame Betsey does it for 
 nothing. He earns money to pay for his schooling, 
 and he wants 'to go to college, and they don't doubt he 
 will. They said he was the best boy that ever was. His 
 mother does n't have anybody but him to do things for 
 her, only his little sister about the size of my little sister. 
 He makes the fires and cuts wood and splits kindling, 
 and looks into the buttery to see when the things are 
 empty, and never waits to be told. When they talked 
 about him they both talked together, and Lame Betsey 
 let one spiderful burn forgetting to turn 'em over time 
 enough. 
 
 When I was coming away they said, " Where 's Dorry ? 
 I thought you two always kept together." For we did 
 always go to buy things together. Then I told her a 
 little, but not all about it.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 175 
 
 " O, make up ! make up ! " they said. " Make up and 
 be friends again ! " I 'm willing to make up if he is. 
 But I don't mean to be the first one to make up. 
 From your affectionate Grandson, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 William Henry to his Grandmother. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I guess you '11 think 't is. funny, getting another letter 
 again from me so soon, but I 'm in a hurry to have my 
 father send me some money to have my skates mended ; 
 ask him if he won't please to send me thirty-three cents, 
 and we two have made up again and I thought you 
 would like to know. It had been 'most three days, and 
 we had n't been anywhere together, or spoken hardly, 
 and I had I't looked him in the eye, or he me. Old 
 Wonder Boy he wanted to keep round me all the time, 
 and have double-runner together. He knew we two 
 had n't been such chums as we used to be, so he came 
 up to me and said, " Billy, I think that Dorry 's a mean 
 sort of a chap, don't you ? " 
 
 " No, I don't," I said. " He don't know what 't is to 
 be mean ! " For I was n't going to have him coming 
 any Jersey over me ! 
 
 " O, you need n't be so spunky about it ! " says he. 
 
 " I ain't spunky ! " says I. 
 
 Then I went into the school-room, to study over my 
 Latin Grammar before school began, and sat down 
 amongst the boys that were all crowding round the stove 
 And I was studying away, and did n't mind 'em fooling 
 round me, for I 'd lost one mark day before, and did n't
 
 176 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 mean to lose any more, for you know what my father 
 promised me, if my next Report improved much. And 
 while I was sitting there, studying away, and drying my 
 feet, for we 'd been having darings, and W. B. he 
 stumped me to jump on a place where 't was cracking, 
 and I went in over tops of boots and wet my feet sop 
 ping wet. And I did n't notice at first, for I was n't 
 looking round much, but looking straight down on my 
 Ljitin Grammar, and did n't notice that 'most all the boys 
 had gone out. Only about half a dozen left, and one of 
 'em was Dorry, and he sat to the right of me, about a 
 yard off, studying his lesson. Then another boy went 
 out, and then another, and by and by every one of them 
 was gone, and left us two sitting there. O, we sat just 
 as still ! I kept my head down, and we made believe 
 think of nothing but just the lesson. First thing I knew 
 he moved, and I looked up, and there was Dorry looking 
 me right in the eye ! And held out his hand " How 
 are you, Sweet William ? " says he, and laughed some. 
 Then I clapped my hand on his shoulder, " Old Dorry- 
 mas, how are you ? " says I. And so you see we got 
 over it then, right away. 
 
 Dorry says he was n't asleep that morning, when I 
 stood there, only making believe. Said he wished I 'd 
 pull, then he was going to pull too, and wouldn't that 
 been a funny way to make up, pulling hair ? He 's had 
 a letter from Tom Gush and he 's got home, but is going 
 away again, for he means to be a regular sailor and get 
 to be captain of a great ship. He 's coming here next 
 week. I hope you won't forget that thirty-three. I 'd 
 just as lives have fifty, and that would come better in
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 177 
 
 the letter, don't you believe it would ? That photograph 
 saloon has just gone by, and the boys are running down 
 to the road to chase it. When Dorry and I sat there by 
 the stove, it made me remember what Uncle Jacob said 
 about our picture. 
 
 Your affectionate Grandson, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 William Henry to his Grandmother. 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 The reason that I 've kept so long without writing is 
 because I 've had to do so many things. We 've been 
 speaking dialogues and coasting and daring and snow 
 balling, and then we 've had to review and review and 
 review, because 't is the last of the term, and he says he 
 believes in reviews more than the first time we get it. I 
 tell you, the ones that did n't get them the first time are 
 bad off now. I wish now I 'd begun at the first of it 
 and got every one of mine perfect, then I should have 
 easier times. The coast is wearing off some, and we 
 carry water up and pour on it, and let it freeze, and 
 throw snow on. Now 't is moonshiny nights, the teacher 
 lets all the " perfects " go out to coast an hour. Some 
 times I get out. And guess where Bubby Short and 
 Dorry and I are going to-night ! Now you can't guess, I 
 know you can't. To a party ! Now where do you sup 
 pose the party is to be ? You can't guess that either. In 
 this town. And not very far from this school-house. 
 Somebody you 've heard of. Two somebodies you 've 
 heard of. Now don't you know ? The Two Betseys ! 
 Suppose you '11 think 't is funny for them to have a 
 8* L
 
 178 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 party. But they 're not a going to have it themselves. 
 Now I '11 tell you, and not make you guess any more. 
 
 You know I told you Tom Gush was coming. He 
 came to-day. He 's grown just as tall and as fat and as 
 black and has some small whiskers. I did n't know 
 't was Tom Gush when I first looked at him. Bubby 
 Short asked me what man that was talking with Dorry, 
 and I said I did n't know, but afterwards we found out. 
 He did n't know me either. Says I 'm a staving great 
 fellow. He gave Dorry a ruler made of twelve different 
 kinds of wood, some light, some dark, brought from 
 famous places. And gave Bubby Short and me a four- 
 blader, white handled. He 's got a fur cap and fur 
 gloves, and is 'most as tall as Uncle Jacob. He told 
 Dorry that he thought if he did n't come back here and 
 see everybody, he should feel like a sneak all the rest of 
 his life. 
 
 We three went down to The Two Betseys' Shop with 
 him, and when he saw it, he said, " Why, is that the 
 same old shop ? It cfon't look much bigger than a hen 
 house ! " Says he could put about a thousand like it into 
 one big church he saw away. Said he should n't dare to 
 climb up into the apple-tree for fear he should break it 
 down. Said he 'd seen trees high as a liberty-pole. And 
 when he saw where he used to creep through the rails 
 he could n't believe he ever did go through such a little 
 place, and tried to, but could n't do it. So he took a run 
 and jumped over, and we after him, all but Bubby Short. 
 We took down the top one for him. 
 
 The Two Betseys did n't know him at first, not till we 
 told them. Dorry said, " Here 's a little boy wants to buy
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 179 
 
 a stick of candy." Then Tom said he guessed he 'd take 
 the whole bottle full. And he took out a silver half a 
 
 dollar, and threw it down, but would n't take any change 
 back, and theu treated us all, and a lot of little chaps that 
 stood there staring. Lame Betsey said, " Wai, I never ! " 
 and The Other Betsey said, " Now did you ever ? Now 
 who 'd believe 't was the same boy ! " And Tom said he 
 hoped 't was n't exactly, for he did n't think much of that 
 Tom Gush that used to be round here. Coming back he 
 told us he was going to stay till in the evening, and have 
 a supper at the Two Betseys', us four together, but not 
 let them know till we got there. He 's going to carry 
 the things. We went to see Gapper Sky Blue, and Tom 
 bought every bit of his molasses candy, and about all the 
 seed-cakes. When I write another letter, then you'll 
 know about the party. 
 
 Your affectionate Grandson, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. Do you think my father would let me go to sea ?
 
 180 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 William Henry to his Grandmother. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 We had it and they did n't know anything about it till 
 we got there, and then they did n't know what we came 
 for. Guess who was there besides us four ! Gapper 
 Sky Blue and little Rosy. Tom invited them. We left 
 the bundles inside and walked in. Not to the shop, but 
 to the room back, where they stay. They told us, " Do 
 sit up to the fire, for 't is a proper cold day." They 'd 
 got their tea a warming in a little round tea-pot, a black 
 one, and their dishes on a little round table, pulled up 
 close to Lame Betsey ; seemed just like my sister, when 
 she has company, playing supper. The Other Betsey, 
 she was holding a skein of yarn for Lame Betsey to wind, 
 and said their yarn-winders were come apart. Dorry 
 said, " Billy, let 's you and I make some yarn-winders ! " 
 Now what do you think we made them out of? Out of 
 ourselves ! We stood back to back, with our elbows 
 touching our sides, and our arms sticking out, and our 
 thumbs sticking up. Then Dorry told her to put on her 
 yarn, and we turned ourselves round, like yarn-winders. 
 
 Pretty soon Gapper Sky Blue and Rosy came. Then 
 we brought in the bundles and let 'em know what was up, 
 and they did n't know what to say. All they could say 
 was, " Wai, I never ! " and " Now did you ever ? " 
 
 The Other Betsey said if they were having a party 
 they must smart themselves up some. So she got out 
 their other cap?, with white ruffles, and put on her hand 
 kerchief with a bunch of flowers in the back corner, but 
 put a black silk cape on Lame Betsey that had a muslia
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 181 
 
 ruffle roand it, or lace, or I don't know what, and a 
 clean collar, that she worked herself, when she was a 
 young lady, and a bow of ribbon, that she used to wear to 
 parties, wide ribbon, striped, green and yellow, or pink, 
 I can't tell, and both of 'era clean aprons, figured aprons, 
 calico, I think like enough, with the creases all in 'em, 
 and strings tied in front. I tell you if the Two Betseys 
 did n't look tiptop ! Then they unset that little round 
 table, and we dragged out the great big one, that had n't 
 been used for seventeen years. The Other Betsey's 
 grandfather had it, when he was first married. When 
 't i.s n't a table, 't is tipped up to make into a chair, and 
 had more legs than a spider. Little Rosy helped set the 
 table. She never went to a party before. 
 
 O, but you ought to 've seen the plates ! You know 
 your pie-plates? Well, these were just like them. All 
 white, with scalloped edges, blue scalloped edges. Only 
 no bigger round than the top of your tin dipper. The 
 knives and forks two-prongers had green handles. 
 And the sugar-bowl and cream pitcher were dark blue. 
 Tom brought a good deal of sugar, all in white lumps, and 
 a can of milk. He bought pies and jumbles and turn 
 overs and ginger-snaps and egg-crackers and cake and 
 bread at the bake-house, and butter and cheese and 
 Bologna sausage I can't bear Bologna sausage and 
 some oranges, that he brought home from sea. And the 
 sweetest jelly you ever saw ! Don't know whal 't is 
 made of, but they call it guava jelly, and comes in little 
 boxes. I believe I could eat twenty boxes of that kind 
 of jHly, if I could get it. Dorry says he don't doubt 
 they make it out of apple-parings down in Jersey.
 
 182 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 The Other Betsey stood up in a chair and took down 
 her best china cups and saucers, that used to be her 
 grandmother's, and had n't been took down for a good 
 many years, and wiped the dust off. Little mites of 
 things, with pictures on them. We boys did n't drink 
 tea, only Tom Gush ; we had milk in mugs. Mine was 
 a tall, slim one, not much bigger round than an inkstand, 
 and had pine-trees on it, blue pine-trees. Dorry had a 
 china one that was about as clear as glass, that Lame 
 Betsey's brother brought home when he went captain, 
 and Bubby Short's had " A gift of affection " on it. That 
 was one her little niece used to drink out of that died 
 afterwards, when she was very little. 
 
 I tell you if that supper-table did n't look like a sup 
 per-table when 't was all ready ! They set Lame Betsey 
 at the head of the table, because she could n't get up, and 
 Dorry said the one at the head must never get up, for it 
 was n't polite. We took her right up in her chair to set 
 her there. Then there was some fun quarrelling which 
 should sit at her right hand, because that is a seat of 
 honor. Tom said Gapper ought to, for he was the oldest. 
 But he said it ought to be Tom, because he was the most 
 like company. But at last she said 't would n't make 
 any difference, because she was left-handed. The Other 
 Betsey brought some twisted doughnuts out. 
 
 Now I '11 tell you how we sat. 
 
 Lame Betsey at the head, and the Other Betsey at the 
 other end ; Gapper Sky Blue and Rosy and Bubby 
 Short on the right side, and Tom and Dorry and I or, 
 the left. And if we did n't have a bully time ! The Two 
 Betseys and Gapper used to know each other, and to go
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 183 
 
 to school together, and they told such funny stories, made 
 us die a laughing, and when I get home you '11 hear 
 some. Then Gapper told Tom Gush that now he was 
 a sailor he ought to spin us a yarn. When I come home 
 I '11 tell you the yarn Tom spun. 'T was all about an 
 alligator he saw, and about going near it in a boat, and 
 what the Arabs did, and what he did, and what the alli 
 gator did. Wait till I come, then you '11 hear about 
 it. Both Betseys kept putting down their knife and fork, 
 and looking up at him, just as scared, and kept saying, 
 " Wai, I never ! " " Now did you ever ! " 
 
 Tom acted it all out. First he cleared a place for a 
 river. Then he took a twisted doughnut for the alligator 
 and a ginger-snap for a boat. I '11 tell you about it some 
 time. Guess 'twas n't all true, for you can put anything 
 you 've a mind to in a yarn. He told us about the beau 
 tiful birds, and when I told him about one my sister used 
 to have, he said he 'd bring her home a Java sparrow. 
 
 Then he told us about drinking " Hopshe ! " I '11 tell 
 how, and I want all of you to try it. 
 
 Now suppose Hannah Jane was the one to try it. 
 
 First, she takes a tumbler of water in her hand, then 
 you all say together, Hannah Jane and all, quite fast, 
 
 " A blackbird sat on a swinging limb. 
 He looked at me and I at him. 
 Once so merrily, Hopshe ! 
 Twice so merrily, Hopshe ! 
 Thrice so merrily, Hopshe ! " 
 
 Now I shall tell where the fun comes in. 
 While all the rest say, " Once so merrily," Hannah 
 Jane must drink one swallow quick enough to say the
 
 184 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 " Hopshe ! " with them. Then another swallow while 
 they say, "Twice so merrily," and another while they 
 say, " Thrice so merrily," and be ready to say tne " Hop- 
 she " with them, every time. We tried it, and i tell you 
 if the " Hopshe's " did n't come in all sorts of funny 
 ways! The Two Betseys told about some tunny tricks 
 they used to try, to see who was going to be their beau. 
 From your affectionate Grandson, . 
 
 WILLIAM HEXRY. 
 
 P. S. I saw a dollar bill in Gapper Sky Blue's hand 
 after Tom Gush bade him good by. Dorry eays how do 
 I know but 't was more than a dollar bill, and I don't. 
 
 W H. 
 
 There was a good deal left for the Two Betseys to eat 
 afterwards. I had a letter from Mr. Fry. 
 
 William Henry to Aunt Phebe. 
 
 DEAR AUNT, 
 
 There is going to be a dancing-school, and Dorry's 
 mother wants him to go, and he says he guesses he shall, 
 so he may know what to do when he goes to parties, 
 and his cousin Arthur, that does n't go to this school, 
 says 't is bully when you 've learned how. Please ask 
 my grandmother if I may go if I want to. Dorry wants 
 me to if he does, he says, and Bubby Short says he 
 means to too, if we two do, if his mother '11 let him. 
 Dorry's mother says we shall get very good manners 
 there, and learn how to walk into a room. I know how 
 now to walk into a room, I told him, walk right in. But 
 he says his mother means to enter a room, aud there 's
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 185 
 
 more to it than walking right in. He don't mean an 
 empty room, but company and all that. I guess I should 
 be scared to go, the first of it ; I guess I should be bash 
 ful, but Dorry's cousin says you get over that when 
 you 're used to it. Good many fellers are going. Mr. 
 Augustus, and Old Wonder Boy, and Mr. O'Shirk. Now 
 I suppose you can't think who that is ! Don't you know 
 that one I wrote about, that kicked and did n't pay, and 
 that would n't help water the course ? The great boys 
 picked out that name for him, Mr. O'Shirk. The O 
 stands for owe, and Shirk stands for itself. I send home 
 a map to my grandmother, I 've just been making, and 
 I tried hard as I could to do it right, and I hope shd 
 will excuse mistakes, for I never made one before. 'T is 
 the United States. Old Wonder Boy says he should 
 thought I 'd stretched out " Yankee Land " a little bigger. 
 He calls the New England States "Yankee Land." 
 And he says they make a mighty poor show on the map. 
 But Mr. Augustus told him the brains of the whole 
 country were kept in a little place up top, same as in 
 folks. So W. B. kept still till next time. Dorry said 
 he 'd heard of folks going out of the world into Jersey. 
 If I go to dancing-school, I should like to have a bosom 
 shirt, and quite a stylish bow. I think I 'm big enough, 
 don't you, for bosom shirts ? I had perfect this forenoon 
 in all. I 've lost that pair of spotted mittens, and I don't 
 know where, I 'm sure. I know I put them in my 
 pocket. My hands get just as numb now with cold ! 
 Seems as if things in my pockets got alive and jumped 
 out. I was clapping 'em and blowing 'em this morning, 
 and that good, tiptop Wedding Cake teacher told me to
 
 186 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 come in his house, and his wife found some old gloves of 
 his. I never saw a better lady than she is. When she 
 meets us she smiles and says, " How do you do, William 
 Henry ? " or Dorry, or whatever boy it is. And when 
 W. B. was sick one day she took care of him. And 
 she asks us to call and see her. and says she likes boys ! 
 Dorry says he 's willing to wipe his feet till he wears a 
 hole iu the mat, before he goes in her house. For she 
 don't keep eying your boots. Says he has seen women 
 brush up a feller's mud right before his face and eyes. 
 My hair grows darker colored now. And my freckles 
 have 'most faded out the color of my face, i 'm glad 
 
 of it. 
 
 From your affectionate Nephew, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 Aunt Phebe to William Henry. 
 
 MY DEAR BILLY, 
 
 We are very much pleased indeed with your map. 
 Dear me, how the United States have altered since they 
 were young, same as the rest of us ! That western part 
 used to be all Territory. You could n't have done any 
 thing to please your grandmother better. She 's hung it 
 up in the front room, between Napoleon and the Mourn 
 ing Piece, and thinks everything of it. Everybody that 
 comes in she says, " Should you like to see the map my 
 little grandson made, my little Billy ? " You '11 always 
 be her little Billy. She don't seem to think you are 
 growing up so fast. Then she throws a shawl over her 
 head, and trots across the entry and opens the shutters, 
 and then she '11 say, "Pretty good for a little boy." And
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 187 
 
 tells which is Maine, and which is New York, and points 
 out the little arrow and the printed capital letters. Folks 
 admire fast as they can, for that room is cold as a barn, 
 winters. The last one she took in was the minister. 
 Your grandmother sets a sight o' store by you. She 's 
 proud of you, Billy, and you must always act so as to 
 give her reason to be, and never bring her pride to shame. 
 
 We are willing you should go. At first she was 
 rather against it, though she says she always meant 
 you should learn to take the steps when you got old 
 enough, but she was afraid it might tend to making 
 you light-headed, and to unsteady your mind. This 
 was the other night when we were talking it over in 
 your kitchen, sitting round the fire. Somehow we get 
 in there about every evening. Does seem so good to see 
 the blaze. Your father said if a boy had common sense 
 he 'd keep his balance anywhere, and if dancing-school 
 could spoil a fellow, he was n't worth spoiling, worth 
 keeping, I mean. I said I thought it might tend to keep 
 you from toeing in, and being clumsy in your motions 
 Your Uncle J. said he did n't think 't was worth while 
 worrying about our Billy getting spoiled going to dancing- 
 school, or anybody's Billy, without 't was some dandyfied 
 coot. " Make the head right and the heart right," says 
 he, " and let the feet go, if they want to." So you 
 see, Billy, we expect your head 's right and your heart 's 
 right. Are they ? 
 
 The girls and I have turned to and cut and made you 
 a couple of bosom shirts and three bows, for of course 
 you will have to dress rather different, and think a little 
 more about your looks. But not too much, Billy ! Not
 
 188 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 too much! And don't for gracious sake ever get the 
 notion that you 're good-looking ! Don't stick a breast 
 pin in that shirt-bosom and go about with a strut ! I 
 don't know what I had n't as soon see as see a vain 
 young man. I do believe if I were to look out, and you 
 should be coming up my front yard gravel path with a 
 strut, or any sort of dandyfied airs, I should shut the 
 door in your face. Much as I set by you, I really 
 believe I should. Lor ! what are good looks ? What 
 are you laying out to make of yourself? That 's the 
 question. Freckles are not so bad as vanity. Any 
 body 'd think I was a minister's wife, the way I talk. 
 But, Billy, you have n't got any mother, and I do think 
 so much of you ! 'T would break my heart to see you 
 grow up into one of those spick-and-span fellers, that are 
 all made up of a bow and a scrape and a genteel smile ! 
 Though I don't think there 's much danger, for common 
 sense runs in the family. No need to go with muddy 
 boots, though, or linty, or have your bow upside down. 
 You 've always been more inclined that way. Fact is, I 
 want you should be just right. I have n't a minute's 
 more time to write. Your Uncle J. has promised to 
 finish this. 
 
 DEAR COUSIN BILLY, 
 
 This is Lucy Maria writing. The blacksmith sent 
 word he was waiting to sharpen the colt, and father 
 had to go. He 's glad of it, because he never likes 
 to write letters. I 'm glad you are going to dancing- 
 school. Learn all the new steps you can, so as to show 
 us how they 're done. Hannah Jane's beau has just been
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 189 
 
 here. He lives six miles off, close by where we went 
 once to a clam-bake, when Dorry was here. Georgiana's 
 great doll, Seraphine, is engaged to a young officer across 
 the road. He was in the war, and draws a pension of a 
 cent a week. The engagement is n't out yet, but the 
 family have known it several days, and he has been in 
 vited to tea. He wore his best uniform. Seraphine is 
 invited over there, and Georgie is making her a spangled 
 dress to wear. The wedding is to come off next month. 
 I do wish I could think of more news. Father is the 
 best hand to write news, if you can only get him at it. 
 Once when I was away, he wrote me a letter and told me 
 what they had for dinner, and what everybody was doing, 
 and how many kittens the cat had, and how much the 
 calf weighed, and what Tommy said, and seemed 'most 
 as if I 'd been home and seen them. Be sure and write 
 how you get along at dancing-school, and what the girls 
 wear. 
 
 Your affectionate Cousin, 
 
 LUCY MARIA. 
 
 William Henry to Aunt Phebe. 
 
 MY DEAR AUNT, 
 
 Thank you for the bosom shirts and the one? that 
 helped make them. They 've come. I like them very 
 much and the bows too. They 're made right. I lent 
 Bubby Short one bow. His box had n't come. He kept 
 running to the expressman's about every minute. We 
 began to go last night. If we miss any questions to-day, 
 we shall have to stay away next night. That 's going to 
 be the rule. O, you ought to 've seen Dorry and me at
 
 190 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTKRS. 
 
 it with the soap and towels, getting ready ! We scrubbed 
 our faces real bright and shining, and he said he felt like 
 a walking jack-o'-lantern. I bought some slippers and 
 had to put some cotton-wool in both the toes of 'em to 
 jam my heels out where they belonged to. I don't like 
 to wear slippers. My bosom shirt sets bully, and I bought 
 a linen-finish paper collar. I have n't got any breastpin. 
 I don't think I 'm good looking. Dorry does n't either. 
 I know he don't. That 's girls' business. We had to 
 buy some gloves, because his cousin said the girls wore 
 white ones, apd nice things, and 't would n't do if we 
 did n't. Yellowish-brownish ones we got, so as to keep 
 clean longer. But trying on they split in good many 
 places, our fingers were so damp, washing 'em so long. 
 Lame Betsey is going to sew the holes up. When we 
 got there we did n't dare to go in, first of it, but stood 
 peeking in the door, and by and by Old Wonder Boy 
 gave me a shove and made me tumble in. I jumped up 
 quick, but there was a great long row of girls, and they 
 all went, " Tee hee hee ! tee hee hee ! " Then Mr. Tor- 
 nero stamped and put us in the gentlemen's row. Then 
 both rows had to stand up and take positions, and put one 
 heel in the hollow of t' other foot, and then t' other heel in 
 that one's hollow, and make bows and twist different ways. 
 And right in front was a whole row of girls, all looking. 
 But they made mistakes theirselves sometimes. 
 
 First thing we learned the graces, and that is to bend 
 way over sideways, with one hand up in the air, and 
 the other 'most way down to the floor, then shift about on 
 t' other tack, then come down on one knee, with one hand 
 way behind, and the other one reached out ahead as if
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 191 
 
 't was picking up something a good ways off. We have 
 to do these graces to make us limberer, so to dance easier. 
 I tell you 't is mighty tittlish, keeping on one knee and 
 the other toe, and reaching both ways, and looking up in 
 the air. I did something funny. I '11 tell you, but don't 
 tell Grandmother. Of course 't was bad, 1 know 't was, 
 made 'em all laugh, but I did u't thiuk of their all pitch 
 ing over. You see I was at one end of the row and W. B. 
 was next, and we were fixed all as I said, kneeling down in 
 that tittlish way, reaching out both ways, before and be 
 hind, and looking up, and I remembered how he shoved 
 me into the room, and just gave him a little bit of a 
 shove, and he pitched on to the next one, and he on to 
 the next, and that one on to the next, and so that whole 
 row went down, just like a row of bricks ! Course 
 everybody laughed, and Mr. Tornero did too, but he soon 
 stamped us still again. And then just as they all got 
 still again, I kept seeing how they all went down, and I 
 shut up my mouth, but all of a sudden that laugh shut 
 up inside made a funny sort of squelching sound, and he 
 looked at me cross and stamped his foot again. Now I 
 suppose he '11 think I 'm a bad one, just for that tumbling 
 in and shoving that row down and then laughing when I 
 was trying to keep in ! He wants we should practise the 
 graces between times, to limber us up. Dorry and I do 
 them up in our room. Guess you'd laugh if you could see, 
 when we do that first part, bending over sideways, one 
 hand up and one down. I tried to draw us, but 'tis a 
 good deal harder drawing crooked boys than 't is straight 
 ones, so 't is n't a very good picture. The boys that go 
 keep practising in the entries and everywhere, and the
 
 192 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 other ones do it to make fun of us, so you keep seeing 
 twisted boys everywhere. Bubby Short was kneeling 
 down out doors across the yard, on one knee, and I 
 thought he was taking aim at something, but he said he 
 was doing the graces. I must study now. Bubby Short 
 got punished a real funny way at school to-day. I '11 tell 
 you next time. I 'm in a hurry to study now. 
 Your affectionate Nephew, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. Dorry 's just come in. He and Bubby Short 
 and I bought " Seraphine" some wedding presents and 
 he 's done 'em up in cotton-wool, and they '11 come 
 to her in a pink envelope. Dorry sent that red-stoned 
 ring and I sent the blue-stoned. We thought they'd do 
 for a doll's bracelets. Bubby Short sends the artificial 
 rosebud. He likes flowers, he keeps a geranium. 
 We bought the presents at the Two Betseys' Shop. 
 They said they 'd do for bracelets. Dorry says, " Don't 
 mention the price, for 't is n't likely everybody can make 
 such dear presents, and might hurt their feelings." We 
 tried to make some poetry, but could n't think of but two 
 lines. 
 
 When you 're a gallant soldier's wife, 
 
 May you be happy all your life ! 
 
 Dorry says that 's enough, for she could n't be any more 
 than happy all her life. " Can too ! " W. B. said. " Can 
 be good!" "O, poh!" Bubby Short said; "she can't 
 be happy without she 's good, can she ? " But I want to 
 study my lesson now. . TT 
 
 Those bosom shirts are the best things I ever had. 
 
 W. H,
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 193 
 
 Although ft would have been a vast sacrifice, I think I 
 would have almost given my best pair of shoes for a chance 
 of seeing Billy when dressed to go to the dancing-school. A 
 boy in his first bosom shirt is such an amusing sight. You can 
 easily pick one out in a crowd by his satisfied air, and stiff* 
 gait ; by the setting back of the shoulders, and the throwing 
 out of the chest, as if that smooth, white, starched expanse 
 did not set out enough of itself ! Some have a way of look 
 ing up at gentlemen, as much as to say, We wear bosom 
 shirts! But of course those of us bojs and men who have 
 passed through this experience remember all about it. 
 
 Lucy Maria to William Henry. 
 
 DEAR COUSIN, 
 
 That famous wedding came off yesterday afternoon. 
 There were fifteen invited. I do wish .1 had time to 
 tell you all about it. Mother made a real wedding- 
 cake. Georgie has hardly slept a wink for a week, I 
 do believe, thinking about it. The young soldier wore 
 his epaulets, having been made General the day before. 
 The bride was dressed in pure white, of course, with a 
 long veil, of course, too, and orange blossoms, real 
 orange blossoms that I made myself. The presents were 
 spread out on the baby-house table. Perhaps you don't 
 know that Georgie has a baby-house. It is made of a 
 sugar-box, set up on end papered with housepaper inside, 
 and brown outside. It has a down below, an up stairs, 
 and garret. I do wish I had time to tell you all about 
 the wedding, but Matilda 's a churning, and I promised 
 to part the butter and work it over, if she would fetch it 
 I do wish you could hear her singing away, 
 
 9 M
 
 194 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 " Come, butter, come ! come, butter, come ! 
 Peter stands at the gate, waiting for his buttered cake. 
 Come, butter, come ! " 
 
 Besides the baby-house table, the presents were laid on 
 the roof of the baby-house. There were sontags, shoes, 
 hats and feathers, and all sorts of clothes, the rosebud, 
 your jewelry, and more besides, also spoons, dishes, grid 
 irons, vases and everything they could possibly want, to 
 keep house with, even to flatirons and a cooking-stove. 
 The hands of the happy couple were fastened together, 
 and they stood up (there was a pile of books behind 
 them). Then the trouble was, who should be the min 
 ister ? At last we saw that funny Dicky Willis, your 
 old crony, peeping in the window, and made him come 
 in and be the minister. He was just the right one for 
 it. He charged the bridegroom to give his wife every 
 thing she asked for, and keep her in dry kindlings, and 
 let her have her own way, and always wipe his feet, and 
 not smoke in the house, and never find fault ; and 
 charged her to sew on his buttons, and have plum-pud 
 ding often, and let him smoke in the house, and never 
 want any new clothes, and always mind her husband, 
 and let him bring in mud on his feet, and always have 
 a smiling face, even if the baby-house wa-* a burning 
 down over their heads, and then pronounced them man 
 and wife. I could fill up half a dozen sheets of paper, 
 if I had time, but I 'm afraid of that butter. Every 
 body shook hands with them, and kissed them, and the 
 wedding-cake was passed round, and then the children 
 played 
 
 " Little Sally Waters, sitting in the sun, 
 Crying and weeping for her lost one."
 
 THE WILLIAM HKNRY LETTERS. 195 
 
 In the midst of everything Tommy came in with 
 Georgiana's atlas, and said he 'd found " two kick-cases." 
 He meant those two black hemispheres, that are pictured 
 out in the beginning. Mother put a raisin in his mouth, 
 and hushed him up. The happy couple have gone on 
 a wedding tour to Susie Snow's grandmother's country 
 seat. It is expected that they will live half the time 
 with Georgie, and half at the General's head-quarters. 
 But their plans may be altered ; this is a changing world, 
 and a young couple can't always tell what's before them. 
 I do wish you 'd write how you get on at dancing-school, 
 and what the great girls wear, about my age. O dear 
 what an age it is! T is dreadful to think of! 'Most 
 eighteen ! Did you ever hear of anybody being so old ? 
 Now truly I 'm 'most ashamed to own how old I am. Eigh 
 teen next month ! Hush, don't tell ! Keep it private ! 
 I do wish I could grow backwards, and grow back into a 
 baby-house if 't were nothing but a sugar-box. I do long 
 to cut my hair off and go in a long-sleeved tier, and I 've 
 a good mind to. We don't think you made a very good 
 beginning Guess your Mr. 5 I can't think of his name 
 thought there was need enough of your learning to 
 enter a room. Mother 's going to put a note in this let 
 ter. I "ve made her promise not to scold you, but she 's 
 got something particular to say. Father will too. I 
 told him 't would be just what you would like, one of his 
 letters. Matilda says the butter has sent word it 's com 
 ing. Write soon. 
 
 From your affectionate Cousin, 
 
 LUCY MARIA. 
 
 I was very sorry not to be able to attend the wedding. My
 
 196 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 present was half a dozen holders. The woman with whom I 
 hoard said I could n't give a bride anything more useful. 
 Her little daughter made them for me, at the rate of two 
 cents apiece. They were an inch wide, and all had loops at 
 the corners. 
 
 A Note from Uncle Jacob. 
 
 HOW ARE Y.OU, YOUNG MAN ? 
 
 I am very glad you go to dancing-school. Boys, as a 
 general thing, are too fond of study, and 't is a good plan 
 to have some contrivance to take their minds off their 
 books. I suppose you 'd like to know what is going on 
 here at home. Your grandmother sits by the fire knit 
 ting some mittens for you to lose, so be sure you do it. 
 [She says, tell him to be sure when he goes to dancing- 
 school to wear his overcoat.] Your aunt Phebe is mak 
 ing jelly tarts. Says I can't have any till meal-time. 
 [Tell him to be sure and get cooled off some before he 
 comes away.] Your grandmother can't help worrying 
 about that dancing-school. Matilda is picking over rai 
 sins for the pie*. She won't sit very close to me. Now 
 Tommy has come in, crying with cold hands. Lucy 
 Maria is soaking them in cold water. I don't doubt 
 he '11 get a tart. Yes, he has. First he cries, and then 
 he takes a bite. [Tell him not to go and come in his 
 slippers.] Aunt Phebe says, " Now there 's William 
 Henry growing up, you ought to give him some advfce." 
 Hut I tell her that a boy almost in his teens knows 
 himself what 's right and what 's wrong. Now Georgi- 
 ana has come in crying. Says she stepped her foot 
 through a puddle of ice. Grandmother has set her up
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 197 
 
 to dry her foot. Now she '11 get a tart, I suppose ! Yes 
 she has. [Tell him to look right at the teacher's feet.] 
 That's good advice if you expect to learn how. Now 
 your aunt says I 'm such a good hoy to write letters 
 she 's going to give me this one that 's burnt on the 
 edge. [Tell him to brush his clothes and not go linty.] 
 More good advice. I guess now I've got the tart I 
 won't write any more. Of course we expect you to do 
 just about right. If you neglect your studies and so 
 waste your father's money, you '11 be an ungrateful 
 scamp. If you get into any contemptible mean ways, 
 we shall be ashamed to own you. Do you mean to do 
 anything or be anything now or ever ? If you do, 't is 
 
 time you were thinking about it. 
 
 UNCLE JACOB. 
 
 All between the brackets are messages from your 
 grandmother. j jy 
 
 A Note from Aunt Phebe. 
 
 DEAR BILLY, 
 
 When you get as far as choosing partners, there 's a 
 word I want to say to you, though, as you 're a pretty 
 good dispositioned boy, maybe there 's no need ; still you 
 may not always think, so 't will do no harm to say it. 
 There are always some girls that don't dance quite so 
 well, or don't look quite so well, or don't dress quite so 
 well, or are not liked quite so well, or are not quite 
 so much acquainted. Now I don't want you to all the 
 time, but sometimes, say once in an evening, I want 
 you to pick out one of these for your partner. I
 
 198 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 know 't is n't the way boys do. But you can Sup- 
 pose you don't have a good time that one dance. You 
 were n't sent into the world to have a good time every 
 minute of your life ! How would you like to sit still 
 all the evening ? I 've been spectator at such times, 
 and I 've seen how things go on ! Why, if boys would 
 be more thoughtful, every girl might have a good time, 
 besides doing the boys good to think of something be 
 sides their own comfort. If I were you I would n't try 
 to make fun, but try to learn, for though your father was 
 willing you should go, and wants to do everything he 
 can for you, he has to work hard for his money. Lucy 
 Maria is waiting to hear how you get on. 
 Your affectionate 
 
 AUNT PHEBE. 
 
 William Henry to Lucy Maria. 
 
 DEAR COUSIN, 
 
 I was going to write to you before, how I was getting 
 along", but have had to study very hard. We 've been 
 five times. The girls wear slippers and brown boots and 
 other colors, and white dresses and blue and all kinds, 
 and long ribbons, and a good many pretty girls go. If 
 girls did n't go, I should like to go better. I mean till 
 we know how, for I 'd rather make mistakes when only 
 boys were looking. And I make a good many, because 
 he says I don't have time and tune. He says my feet 
 come down sometimes right square athwart the time. 
 So I watched the vest, and when they put their feet 
 down, I did mine. But that was a stroke too late, he 
 aid. Said " time and tune waits for no man." I like
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 199 
 
 to promenade, because a feller can go it some then. We 
 learn all kinds of waltzes and redo was and polkas. I 
 can polka with one that knows how. Whirling ronnd 
 makes me light-headed just as Grandmother said. But I 
 get over it i-ome. We are going to do the German at 
 the last of it. The worst of it is cutting across the room 
 to get your partners. He calls out when we 're all 
 standing up in two rows, " First gentleman take the 
 first lady ! " Now, supposing I 'm first gentleman, I have 
 to go way across to first lady with all of 'ern looking, 
 and fix my feet right way, one heel in the other hollow, 
 and then make my how, and then she has to make that 
 kind of kneeling-down bow that girls do, and then we 
 wait till all of 'em get across one by one. Then we take 
 the step a little while, and then launch off round the 
 hall, polking, or else get into quadrilles. And if we do we 
 make graces to the partners and the corners. I like 
 quadrilles best, because you can hop round some and 
 have a good time, if you have a good partner. You can 
 dance good deal better with a good partner. Last time 
 I had that one the fellers call " real estate," because you 
 can't move her she don't ever get ready to start, and 
 when 't is time to turn stands still as a post. 
 
 Dorry and I practise going across after partners, up 
 in our room. You ought to 've seen us ye.-terday ! 
 Dorry was the lady. If he did n't look funny ! He 
 fixed the table-cloth off the entry table, to make it look 
 like his mother's opera-cape, and fastened a great 
 sponge on for a waterfall, and fizzled out his hair, and 
 had a little tidy on top his head, and that red bow you 
 sent me right in front of it. Then he stood out by the
 
 200 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 window, and kept looking at his opera-cape, and omooth 
 ing it down, and poking his hair, and holding his hand' 
 kerchief, the way girls do, and kept whispering, or mak 
 ing believe, to Bubhy Short, the way girls do. Then I 
 went across and made my bow, and he made that kneel- 
 ing-down bow, and then we tried to polka redowa, but 
 our boots tripped us up, and we could n't stand up, and 
 laughed so we tumbled down, and did n't hear anybody 
 coming till he knocked, and 't was the teacher, come to 
 see what the matter was. Not Wedding Cake, but Old 
 Brown Bread, and he said dancing must n't be brought 
 into our studies, and scolded more, but I saw his eyes 
 laughing, looking at Dorry. One of the boys tumbled 
 down stairs, doing the graces in the entry, too near the edge, 
 and it 's forbidden now. Some of the first-class fellers 
 put up a notice one night in the entry, great printed 
 letters. 
 
 "TO *DMrTAMCE T TOE GRACES 
 
 That owl stands for Minerva. I could n't make a very 
 good one because I 'm in such a hurry to do my exam 
 ples. The goddess of wisdom used to be named Miner 
 va. She was painted with an owl. I *ve been reading 
 it in the Classical Dictionary. Dorry and Bubby Short 
 and I have ju4 been to the Two Betseys to get our 
 gloves sewed up, and the Other Betsey said she used to 
 dance like a top. Then she held her dress up with her
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 201 
 
 thumbs and fingers, and took four different kinds of bal< 
 ances. Made us die a laughing, she hopped up and 
 down so. 
 
 Your affectionate Cousin, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S That TO is n't left out in the notice, it 's my 
 own mistake. 
 
 The remaining letters were probably written during his 
 last term at the school. 
 
 Matildas Letter to William Henry. 
 
 DEAR COUSIN, 
 
 Lucy Maria keeps telling me that I promised to write 
 you a letter, but I wish I had n't promised to write you 
 one, because I don't like to write letters very well, for I 
 can't think of anything to write. But Lucy Maria she 
 likes to, and that would do just as well as for me to. But 
 mother says I ought to often, so as to get me in the 
 habit of it. I don't have very much time to write very 
 long letters, for the girls are getting up a Fair, and I am 
 helping do the old woman in her shoe, and gentlemen's 
 pincushions, and presents for the arrow table, where the 
 arrow swings round and points to your present, and so I 
 don't get very much time between schools. For we have 
 to write compositions every week now, and all the girls 
 think the teacher is just as mean as he can be to make 
 us. We want he should take off some of the composi 
 tions and put more on to our other lessons ; but no. He 
 thinks 't is the best thing we can do. He don't care 
 about anything else, I believe. Susie Snow says she 
 9*
 
 $02 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 believes he 's all made up of composition. Our next 
 subject is " Economy " and we 've got to put in time 
 wasted, and health wasted, and money wasted. Susie 
 Snow is going to put in hers that girls should never 
 waste their time writing compositions. 
 
 I wish I could think of some news to tell. Lucy 
 Maria could get news in a sandy desert, I believe. But 
 she don't have to go to school, Hannah Jane has n't got 
 home from Aunt Matilda's yet The minister and his 
 wife and all his children have been here to spend the 
 day. They are very fond of jelly. Mother gave them 
 that tall gilt tumbler full, that Cousin Joe brought home 
 from sea, with gilt flowers on it. 'T is very pleasant 
 weather. I wish you 'd come back and hoe my flower- 
 garden, the weeds are thick as spatters, and I don't have 
 much time. The dog stepped on my sensitive plant, 
 Some of my seeds have n't come up. Father says I 
 better go down after them. That Root of Bliss I set 
 out, good for the headache, that Cousin Joe brought home 
 from the island of Sumatra, that 's in the Mediter 
 ranean Sea, or else in the Indian Ocean, the hens 
 scratched up four times, and I 've brought it in the house 
 and stuck it in a cigar-box. Father told me to shake 
 pepper over it because 't was used to pepper at home, 
 but I can't tell what he means and what he don't, he funs 
 so. Our new cow hooks down rails and goes where she 
 wants to. 
 
 O Billy ! now I can tell you some news. But 't is 
 quite bad news. It happened two weeks ago. We all 
 felt very sorry about it, and some of us cried. I could n't 
 help it. You know our cow that was named Reddie, the
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 203 
 
 one we raised up from a bossy-calf with milk-porridge 
 till 't was big enough to eat grass? Well, she got in the 
 bog. We were just eating supper. Georgiana was eat 
 ing sypper at our house that night. Tommy had n't got 
 home from school, and we were all wondering where he 
 was. Father said he did n't doubt he 'd gone to find his 
 turtle. He had a turtle that got loose and ran away. 
 Mother was just saying he 'd have to have cold dip toast 
 for his supper, for she makes it a rule not to keep things 
 about for him when he don't come straight home to his 
 meals He 'd rather play than eat. 'T is only a little 
 school he goes to. Not very far off. Five scholars, 
 that 's all. Little bits of ones. But I must tell about 
 our cow. 
 
 We began to hear a great screaming, and could n't 
 think what the matter was. 'T was Tommy. And next 
 thing he came running through the yard, crying and hol 
 lering both together, " Father ! Father ! Cow ! Reddie ! " 
 Much as he could do to speak. Father knew in a 
 minute what 't was, for he knew she was pastured close 
 to the bog, and he ran and we all ran, and Mr. Snow 
 and some other men that found it out came with us. O 
 poor cow ! She was in more than half way up, and 
 making dreadful moaning noises, and shook her head and 
 tried to stir, but every stir made her go deeper in. Men 
 and boys waded in, but they could n't do anything. 
 
 " Rails ! rails ! " they all called out, and we pulled 
 them out of the fences and they tried to prise her up 
 with them, but the bog was so soft she sank in so they 
 could n't do anything with her. Much as they could do 
 to keep up themselves. Mr. Snow was prising with a
 
 204 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 rotten rail, and it broke, and he went down in the wet. 
 Old Mr. Slade, that goes with two canes, came there 
 bareheaded and sat down on the bank. He told them to 
 go get some boards. There were n't any, any nearer 
 than Mr. John Slade's new house, and that was too far 
 off, and father said 't was too late, for she was in, then, 
 up to the top of her back. 'Most all the women and 
 girls came away then, for we couldn't bear to stay any 
 longer to see her suffer. She kept her nose pointed up 
 high as she could, and her eyes looked very mournful 
 
 In the morning father told me I should never see 
 Reddie again. They got her up, but not soon enough. 
 She 's buried now, under the poplar-tree, in that field we 
 bought of Mr. Snow. She was a good, gentle cow, and 
 seemed to know us. Mother says she seemed like one 
 of the family. Georgiana about spoiled her new boots 
 in the bog. Our new cow is n't the best breed, but she 's 
 part best. The cream is considerable yellow, but not 
 very. She gives about eight or nine quarts. 'Milk has 
 risen a cent. Mother declares she will not measure her 
 milk in that new kind of quart, that don't hold much 
 over a pint. Lucy Maria and all of us are trying to 
 have mother go get her picture taken. But she says she 
 can't screw her courage up, and can't take the time. 
 Your father says he wants to see her good clever face in 
 a picture. Too bad blue eyes take light. But she might 
 be taken looking down, Lucy Maria says, mending Tom 
 my's trousers, that would be natural. He 's always 
 making barn-doors in his trousers, he 's such a climbing 
 fellow. 
 
 L. M. and I have most earned money enough, and
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 205 
 
 father's going to make up the rest, and we are going to 
 hire a cheap piano, that Mr. Fry told us about, and I 'm 
 going to be a music teacher, I guess. I 'm going to begin 
 next month. I shall take of Miss Ashley. I shall have 
 to walk a mile. goody ! goody ! dum, dum, dum ! 
 Sha' n't I be glad ! But Susie Snow says I shall sing 
 another tune after I 've taken a little while. Father ?ays 
 if I begin to take I must go through. Says I must 
 promise to practise two hours a day. I 'd just as soon 
 promise that as not. 'T is just what I like. Only think, 
 I shall have a piano in this very house. Seems if I 
 could n't believe it ! I can play for you to dance. 
 Wish I knew how to dance. Susie Snow has come 
 after me to go take a walk. Now, William Henry, you 
 must answer this letter just as immediately as possible. 
 From your affectionate Cousin, 
 
 MATILDA. 
 
 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 did n'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 suppei 
 and only have a little mite of a piece, or cookies, and 
 have as many as you want?
 
 206 THE WILLIAM HENRY LITTERS. 
 
 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 does n't write, and worry about his 
 getting sick or something, but he never felt better. Ap 
 petite 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. 
 
 "01 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 awaj."
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 207 
 
 " 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 '11 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, DORBY. 
 
 Aunt Pkebe's Note. 
 
 MY DEAR BILLY, 
 
 Grandmother worries about that finger. Do ask Dorry 
 to write again, or else take the penholder in your mid 
 dle 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
 
 208 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 no account. But they show what 's in a person, same as 
 a little pattern of goods tells wliat the whole piece is. 
 Show me half an inch of cotton and I '11 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 op on purpose. 'T was all a con 
 trived 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 should n't leave the saloon till he 'd 
 had his, for she was going te have a locket with us both 
 inside, and I had to be done over small. What an oper 
 ation it is to have your picture taken I 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 nat 
 ural, arid smile a very little ! I 'm sore 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 passed through ! 
 Your Uncle J. took things easy and joked with the man, 
 and was laughing when the cover was taken off and 
 did n'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
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 209 
 
 father says he sha' n't be hung up alive, if he can help 
 himself. 
 
 It is n't likely I shall write to you again very soon. 
 Cousin Joe and his accordion are coming, and he '11 bring 
 his sisters, and the young folks about here know them, 
 and I expect there '11 be nothing but frolicking. Then 
 there '11 be some of your Uncle J.'s folks after that, so 
 you see we '11 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 some 
 thing to amuse the company with." Write when you can. 
 
 With a great deal of love, your affectionate 
 
 AUNT PIIEBE. 
 
 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 perse 
 verance, and partly with my assistance, the thing was secretly 
 managed, and managed so well that Uncle Jacob actually car 
 ried them out home himself, in a bundle to Lucy Maria, with 
 out knowing it! And they now bang 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.
 
 210 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 So you want home matters reported. Eatable matters 
 of course will be most interesting. Milk and butter, 
 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 butter, 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 adver 
 tise to be a companion. What do companions do ? The 
 old lady might be cross, or the old gentleman, but that 
 would n'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 
 would n't be anybody to shut the barn-door, and mother 
 thinks there would n't be anyboJy to do anything, though 
 I 've promised to scald the pans, and do up the starched
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 211 
 
 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 moth 
 er is n'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 did n'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 ! "
 
 212 THE WILLIAM HENUY LETTERS. 
 
 " Why," said Frankie, " don't you know the publicans ? 
 Wai, 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 ! " 
 
 " O poh ! " said Benny. " I see 'em go by. Paint- 
 pots on their heads, and brushes in 'em ! I was n't goin' 
 to chase ! " 
 
 " Guess nobody would n't let ye ? " said Frankie. 
 
 " Did n't either ! " cried Tommy, " did n't have painU 
 pots ! " 
 
 " Did ! " said Benny. " Guess my great brother 
 knows!" 
 
 " Guess we know," said Frankie, " when we went ! " 
 
 " And the town was all celebrated" said Tommy. 
 And the houses all gloomed up ! And horses ! O my ! 
 
 " O poh ! " said Benny. ' When I grow up, I 'm goin' 
 to have a span ! " 
 
 If mother does go, she '11 take Tommy, for she would n't 
 sleep a wink away from him over night. Father pre 
 tends he 'd go if he had a handsome span. Says he 
 hasn't got a horse in the barn good enough to take 
 mother out riding. When Mammy Sarah was here wash 
 ing, she told him how he could get a good span. You know 
 he 's always joking about taking summer boarders. Says 
 Mammy Sarah, " Now 't is a wonder to me you don't do 
 it, for summer boarders is as good as a gold-mine. Money 
 runs right out of their pockets, and all you have to do is to 
 catch it." She says we could make enough out of a 
 couple of them, in a month's time, to buy a handsome 
 span, and she is n't sure but the harness.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 213 
 
 I think we begin to be a little in earnest about summer 
 boarders. For we have rooms enough, in both houses 
 together, and milk and vegetables, and mother 's a splen 
 did cook. Mammy Sarah says, "They ain't diffikilt, 
 and after they've been in the country couple of weeks, 
 they don't eat so very much more than other folks." 
 
 Father says he wants to take them more for the enter 
 tainment than the money. He wants rich ones, but 
 not the sensible kind, that know money is n't the only 
 thing worth having. Says what he wants is that silly, 
 stuck-up kind, that put on airs, and make fools of them 
 selves, they 'd be so amudng ! Thinks the best sort for 
 our use would be specimens that went up quite sudden 
 from poor to rich, like balloons, all filled with gas. I 
 believe there 'd be lots of fun to be made out of them. 
 I 've seen one or two. Gracious ! You 'd think they 
 were n't born on the same planet with poor folks. Moth 
 er 'd rather have the really well-informed, sensible kind, 
 that we may learn something from them. A couple of 
 each would be just the thing. How do you like mother's 
 picture ? We don't feel at all satisfied with it. If she 
 could only be taken at home! Then she 'd look natural. 
 Father says the world is going ahead so fast, he believes 
 the time will come when every family will have its own 
 picture-machine, much as it has its own frying-pan 
 Then when folks have on their best expressions, why, clap 
 it right before them. Then they '11 look homish. Says 
 what he wants is to have mother's face when she 's just 
 made a batch of uncommon light biscuits, or when Tom 
 my 's said something smart. Won't there be funny pic 
 tures when we can hold up a machine before anybody any
 
 214 
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 minute, like a frying-pan, and catch faces glad, or mad, 
 or sad, or any way ? I made believe take Tommy's and 
 then showed them to him on a piece of paper. Guess 
 I '11 put them in the letter. They *11 do to amuse you. 
 I draw an hour or so every day. First, I have to 
 make my hour. Sometimes I have to make more. For 
 I will read a little, if the world stops because of it. But 
 about the faces. First one is when he was crying be 
 
 cause he could n't have sugar on his potatoes. Next one 
 is when he was spunky at Frankie Snow for bursting 
 his little red balloon. The pleased-looking face is when 
 father brought him home a little ship all rigged, and the 
 laughing one is when the cow put her head in the win 
 dow. We tell him we '11 have them framed and hung 
 up so he can see just how he looks. Mother says 't is 
 all very well to laugh at Tommy, but she guesses some 
 older ones' pictures would n't always look smiling and 
 pleasant, take them the year through ! 
 
 As soon as your finger is itself again do write, for we 
 miss your letters. We expect to have gay times here 
 this summer. Company coming, but we sha' n't make
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 215 
 
 company of them. Except to have splendid times. What 
 shall we do evenings? If you go anywhere where there 
 is anything going on, do write us about it, so we can go on 
 the same way. When are you coming ? Write me a 
 good long letter when you can. 
 
 Your affectionate Cousin, 
 
 LUCY MARIA. 
 
 Your father is going to write you a letter. Quite 
 wonderful for him. O William Henry, you don't know 
 how much I think of your father, and what a good man 
 he is ! I guess you 'd better write to your grandmother 
 before you do me ; she 's so pleased to have you write to 
 her. 
 
 Father wants to know when that ball hit you if you 
 bawled. 
 
 Lucy Maria's " picture-taker " made a great deal of fun for 
 them, and possibly did some good. She constructed a queer 
 long-handled affair, and, at the most unexpected moments, 
 this would be thrust before the faces of different members of 
 the family, more especially Tommy, Matilda, or Georgiana, 
 and their " pictures " would be sure to appear to them soon 
 after, "glad, or mad, or sad, or any way." 
 
 And the plan of " summer boarders " also furnished enter 
 tainment. The talk on this subject was quite amusing, par 
 ticularly when it touched the subject of " advertising." Lucy 
 Maria suggested this ending : 
 
 "None but the silly, or the really well-informed need apply." 
 But Mr. Carver thought such a notice would fail of bringing 
 a single boarder. For silly people did not know they were 
 silly, and the really well-informed were the very last ones to 
 think themselves so.
 
 216 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 William Henry to Aunt Phebe. 
 
 DEAR AUNT PHEBE, 
 
 J thank you for taking your time to write to me, when 
 you have so much work to do. My forefinger has about 
 recovered the use of itself. The middle one did go lame 
 a spell, but now 't is very well, I thank you. Mrs. Wed 
 ding Cake did them up for me. I think she 's a very 
 kind woman. Dorry says he 'd put a girdle round the 
 earth in forty minutes, or lay down his life, if she wanted 
 him to, or anything else, for the only woman he knows 
 that will smile on boys' mud and on boys' noise. 
 
 Ten of us went on an excursion with the teacher, half- 
 price, to Boston, and had a long ride in the cars, over 
 forty miles. We went everywhere, and saw lots of things. 
 Went into the Natural History building. You can 
 go in for nothing. You stand on the floor, at the bottom 
 and look way up to the top. All round inside are gal 
 leries running round, with alcoves letting out of them, 
 where they keep all sorts of unknown beasts and birds 
 and bugs and snakes. Some of those great birds are reg 
 ular smashers ! 'Most dazzles your eyes to look at their 
 feathers, they 're such bright red ! I 'd just give a guess 
 how tall they were, but don't believe I 'd come within a 
 foot or two. Also butterflies of every kind, besides skel 
 etons of monkeys and children and minerals and all kinds 
 of grasses and seeds, and nuts there such as you never 
 cracked or thought of! They are there because they are 
 seeds, not because they are nuts. And there 's a cast of 
 a great ugly monster, big as several elephants, that used 
 to walk round the earth before any men lived in it. 
 If he was n't a ripper ! Could leave his hind feet on the
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 217 
 
 ground and put his fore paws up in the trees arid eat the 
 tops off! They call him a Megotharium ! I hope he 's 
 spelt right, though he ought not to expect it, and I don't 
 know as it makes much difference, seeing he lived thou 
 sands of years before the flood, and lucky he did, Dorry 
 says, for the old ark could n't have floated with many of 
 that sort aboard. He was n't named till long after he was 
 dead and buried. Patient waiter is no loser, Dorry says, 
 for he 's got more name than the ones that live now, and 
 is taken more notice of. We saw a cannon-ball on the side 
 of Brattle Street Church, where 't was fired in the Revo 
 lution, and we went to the top of the State House. 
 Made our knees ache going up so many steps, but it pays. 
 For you can look all over the harbor, and all round the 
 country, and see the white towns, and steeples, for miles 
 and miles. Boston was built on three hills and the State 
 House is on one of them. I can't write any more, now. 
 W. B. has left school, because his father got a place 
 for him in New York. His father thought he was old 
 enough to begin. He 's a good deal older than I am. 
 From your affectionate Nephew, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 10
 
 218 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 How do you like this picture of that great Mego I 
 won't try to spell him again eating off the tree-tops ? 
 The leaves on the trees then were different from the ones 
 we have now. Dorry made the leaves, and I made the 
 creature. 
 
 A Letter to William Henry from his Father. 
 
 MY DEAR SON, 
 
 Perhaps you have thought that because I am rather a 
 silent man, and do not very often write you a letter, that 
 I have not very much feeling and do not take interest in 
 you. But no one knows how closely I am watching my 
 boy as Time is bringing him up from boyhood to manhood. 
 
 Sometimes your grandmother worries about your being 
 where there may be bad boys ; but I tell her that among 
 so many there must be both good and bad, and if you 
 choose the bad you show very poor judgment. I think 
 if a boy picks out bad companions it shows there is 
 something bad in himself. 
 
 She says I ought to keep giving you good advice, now 
 you are just starting in life, and charge you to be honest 
 and truthful and so forth. I tell her that would be some 
 thing as it would be if you were just starting on a pleasant 
 journey, and I should say, " Now, William Henry, don't 
 put out your own eyes at the beginning, or cut the cords 
 of your legs ! " Do you see what I mean ? A boy that 
 is not honest and truthful puts out his own eyes and crip 
 ples himself at the very beginning. 
 
 There is a good deal said about arriving at honor and 
 distinction. I don't want you to think about arriving at 
 honor. I want you to take honor to start with. And as
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 219 
 
 for distinction, a man, in the long run, is never distin 
 guished for anything but what he really is. So make 
 up your mind just what you want to pass for, and be it. 
 For you will pass for what you are, not what you try to 
 appear. Go into the woods and see how easily you can 
 tell one tree from another. You see oak leaves on one, 
 and you know that is oak all the way through. You see 
 pine needles on another, and you know that is pine all 
 the way through. A pine-tree may want to look like an 
 oak, and try to look like an oak, and think it does look 
 like an oak, as it can't see itself. But nobody is cheated. 
 So a rascally fellow may want to appear fair and honest, 
 and try to appear fair and honest, and think he does ap 
 pear fair and honest, as he can't see himself. But, in the 
 long run, nobody is cheated. For you can read a man's 
 character about as easy as you can the leaves on the trees. 
 Sometimes I sit down in a grocery store and hear the 
 neighbors talked about, and 't is curious to find how well 
 everybody is known. It seems as if every man walked 
 round, labelled, as you may say, same as preserve jars 
 are labelled, currant, quince, &c. Only he don't know 
 what his label is. Just as likely as not a man may think 
 his label is Quince Marmelade, when 't is only Pickled 
 String Beans ! 
 
 Just so with boys. Grown folks notice boys a great 
 deal, though when I was a boy, I never knew they did. 
 The little affairs of play-time and school-time, and their 
 home-ways are all talked over, and by the time a boy is 
 twelve years old, it is pretty well known what sort of a 
 man he will make. 
 
 Now don't mistake my meaning. I don't want you to
 
 220 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 be true because people will know it if you are not, but 
 because it is right and noble to be so. I want you to be 
 able to respect yourself. Never do anything that you 
 like yourself any the less for doing. 
 
 A boy of your age is old enough to be looking ahead 
 some, to see what he is aiming at. I don't suppose you 
 want to drift, Kke the sea-weed, that lodges wherever the 
 waves toss it up ! Set up your mark, and a good high 
 one. And be sure and remember that, as a general thing, 
 there is no such thing as luck. If a man seems to be a 
 lucky merchant, or lawyer, or anything else, 't is because 
 he has the talent, the industry, the determined will, that 
 make him so. People see the luck, but they don't always 
 see the " taking pains " that 's behind it. I remember you 
 wrote us a letter once, and spoke of a nice house, with 
 nice things inside, that you meant to have by " trying 
 hard enough." There 's a good deal in that. We 've 
 got to try hard, and try long, and try often, and try again, 
 and keep trying. That house never '11 come down to you. 
 You 've got to climb up to it, step by step. I don't know 
 as I have anything to say about the folly of riches. On 
 the contrary, I think 't is a very good plan to have money 
 enough to buy books and other things worth having. I 
 don't see why a man can't be getting knowledge and 
 growing better, at the same time he is growing richer. 
 Some poor folks have a prejudice against rich folks. I 
 have n't any. Rich people have follies, but poor people 
 copy them if they can. That is to say, we often see poor 
 people making as big fools of themselves as they can, 
 with the means they have. Money won't hurt you, Billy, 
 so long as you keep common sense and a true heart
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 221 
 
 Wa are all watching you and thinking of you, here at 
 home. If you should go wrong 't would be a sad blow 
 for both families. Perhaps I ought to tell you how I 
 feel towards you, and how, ever since your mother's death, 
 my heart has been bound up in you and Georgie. You 
 would then know what a crushing thing it would be to 
 me if you were found wanting in principle. But I am 
 not very good, either at talking or writing, so do remem 
 ber, dear boy, that even when I don't say a word, I 'm 
 thir.King about you and loving you always. God bless 
 you i 
 
 From your affectionate 
 
 FATHER. 
 
 W. B., it seems, from his own account, set sail on the great 
 sea of commerce with flying colors, and favorable winds, 
 probably the Trade-winds. 
 
 Old Wonder Boy to William Henry. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, 
 
 I like my place, and think it is a very excellent one. 
 It is " Veazey & Summ's." When you get a place it is 
 my advice that you should procure one in New York, as 
 New York is greatly superior to Boston. Boston is a one- 
 horse place. I would n't be seen riding in that slow 
 coach. Washington Street could be put whole into Broad 
 way, and not know it was there hardly, for you could travel 
 both sides and all round it. Our store is a very excellent 
 store. Some consider it greatly superior to Stewart's. 
 All our clerks dress in very superior style and go in very 
 good society, and so I lern to use very good language. 
 We keep boys to do the errands, and porters. All the
 
 222 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 stylish people do their trading here. The young ladies 
 like to trade with me very much. The New York ladie* 
 are greatly superior to any other ladies. The firm tiling 
 a great deal of me, so I expect to be promoted quite fast. 
 I am learning to smoke. I have got a very handsoirt< 
 pipe. The head clerk thinks it has got a very superux 
 finish to it. We two are quite thick. How are all th 
 fellers ? Write soon. Remember me to all inquirin , 
 friends, and excuse handwriting. 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 WALTER BRIESDEN. 
 
 William Henry to Matilda. 
 
 DEAR COUSIN, 
 
 Now I 'm going to answer your letter, and then I 
 sha' n't have to think about it any longer. I was sorry 
 to hear about poor Reddie. But if it had been Tommy, 
 then it would have been a great deal worse. Think of 
 that. Dorry and I have been wishing 'most a week about 
 something, and now I '11 tell you what 't is about. About 
 a party. 'T is going to be at Colonel Grey's. He lives 
 in a large light-colored brick house, with a piazza round it, 
 and a fountain, and bronze dogs, and everything lovely. 
 It is Maud Grey's birthday party. Sixteen years old. 
 Old and young are going to be invited, because her little 
 sister's birthday comes next day to hers. Now sometimes 
 when there 's a party some of the biggest of our fellows 
 get invited, because there are not very many young gen 
 tlemen in town, and they are glad to take some from the 
 school. But we two never have yet. But Dorry thinks 
 we stand a better chance now, for we 've been to dancing-
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 223 
 
 school, and will do to fill up sets with. Maud Grey 
 did n't go as a scholar, but she went spectator sometimes, 
 and took my partner's place once, when her string of 
 beads broke. Dorry was in the same set. I never 
 polkaed better in my life, for she took me round and made 
 me keep time whether I wanted to or not, but I told 
 Dorry I felt just like a little boy that had been lifted over 
 a puddle. He 's afraid she won't remember us, but I 
 guess I 'm afraid she will, and then won't invite such a 
 bad dancer. We two thought we 'd walk by the house, 
 just for fun, and make ourselves look tall. So we held up 
 our chins, and swung two little canes we 'd cut, going 
 along, for small chaps are plenty enough, but young gen 
 tlemen go off to college, or stores, soon 's they 're of any 
 size. The blinds were all shut up, but Dorry said there 
 was hope if the slats were turned the right way. Blind 
 slats here move all ways. Yesterday, in school-time, I 
 saw a colored man coming towards the school-house, and 
 thought 't was Cicero, the one that works for Colonel Grey, 
 coming with the invitations, and made a loud " hem ! " 
 for Dorry to look up, and a hiss, to mean Cicero, and 
 pointed out doors. 'T was n't very loud, but that one we 
 call Brown Bread, that has eyes in the back of his head, 
 and ears all over him, and smells rat where there is n't 
 any, and wears slippers, so you can't hear him, even if 
 't is still enough to drop a pin, I thought he was over 
 the other side of the room, tending to his own affairs, but 
 all of a sudden he was standing just back of me, and I 
 had to lose a recess just for that. And 't was n't Cicero 
 after all, but the one that comes after the leavings. 
 (Somebody knocks.)
 
 224 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Afternoon. Hurrah ! We 're going ! The one that 
 knocked at the door was Spicey, with our invitations. 
 When I come home I '11 bring them home to show. 
 They came through the post-office. We expect they 
 all came to the professor, with orders to pick out the 
 ten tallest ones, for they are directed in his writing. 
 I never went to such a party, and should n't know 
 how to behave, if 't was n't for Dorry. First thing 
 you do is to go up and speak to the lady of the 
 house and the lady of the party. I mean after 
 you 've been up stairs, and looked in the looking-glass 
 and smoothed down your hair. Mine always comes up 
 again. I 've tried water and I 've tried oil, and I 've 
 tried beef-marrow, but 't is bound to come np. Dorry 
 savs I ought to put it in a net. Don't you remember 
 that time I had my head shaved off close, and how it 
 looked like an orange ? I 'm glad 't is n't so red as it was. 
 'T is considerable dark now. When you come down you 
 walk up to the lady of the house and say " How do you 
 do?" and shake hands, and when you go home you have 
 to bid her good-night, and say you Ve had a very pleas 
 ant time, and shake hands again. Not shove out your 
 fist, as if yon were shoving a croqnet-ball, but slow, with 
 the fingers about straight, and not speak it out blunt, as 
 if you were singing out u good-night !" to the fellers, but 
 quite softly and smiling. Dorry 's been showing me be 
 forehand. Bubby Short stood up in the floor, and had 
 the bed-spread tied round him with a cod-line, for a trail, 
 and shavings for curls. He was the lady of the house 
 and we walked up to him, and said, ' How do you do, 
 Mrs. Grey ?" and so forth. Dorry drew this picture of
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 225 
 
 us. He draws better than I do. I will write about the 
 
 party. 
 
 From your Cousin, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 William Henry to his Grandmother. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 Now if you will be a good little grandmother, and 
 promise never to worry any more, then I '11 tell you about 
 that party. We had to wear white gloves. I '11 begin 
 at the outside. The piazzas had colored lights hang 
 ing round them, and there were colored lights hung 
 in the trees and the gateways. 'T was a fojrgy night, 
 and those colored lights lighted up the fog all 'around, so 
 when you came towards the place it looked just like a 
 great bright spot in the midst of darkness. There was 
 a tall lady, standing in the middle of the room, with a 
 splendid dress on, dragging way behind her, and I went 
 right up to her, and just got my foot the way Mr. Tornero 
 told us, and the palm of my hand right, when Dorry 
 10* o
 
 22G THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 jerked me back by my jacket and said she was n't the 
 right one. You see we got belated, going back after our 
 clean pocket-handkerchiefs, and hurried so that Dorry 
 fell down and muddied his trousers' knees, but lucky 
 'twas close to the Two Betseys' shop, for we went in 
 there and got sponged up, but we had to wait for 'em to 
 dry. Lame Betsey said she used to take care of Maud 
 Grey when she was a little scrap, and she wanted to make 
 her a birthday present. So they both hunted round, to 
 see if they had anything. In the desk they found a little 
 thin book, a funny-looking old blue-covered book, "Ad 
 vice to a Young Lady," that was given to Lame Betsey 
 when she was young. The title was on the blue cover. 
 'T was a funny-looking thing and it smelt snuffy. She 
 asked me to give it to Maud, after she 'd written her 
 name in it. I tell you now Lame Betsey makes quite 
 good letters ! I did n't want to take the book, but I did, 
 for both Betseys are clever women. 
 
 All this was the reason we got belated, and Mrs. Grey 
 had got mixed up with the other people, but we found 
 her and did the right thing by her. And Maud too. 
 I don't think any of you would believe that I could be
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 227 
 
 have so well ! so polite I mean. Course I did n't feel 
 bashful any ! O no! 
 
 They had four pieces, and they played as if they 
 knew how. I did n't dance at the first of it. Did n't dare 
 to. 'T was too light there. The carpets were covered 
 with white. Then chandeliers, and lamps, and wax can 
 dles, and flowers everywhere they could be, set up in 
 vases, one lady called vases, varzes, and hanging- 
 baskets. I never was in such a beautiful place. The 
 ladies sang at the piano, and the young gentlemen 
 turned their leaves over. O you ought to 've heard 'em 
 when the tunes went up, up, up ! Enough to make you 
 catch your breath ! Seemed as if it could never get 
 down again. I don't like that kind. But Dorry said 
 't was opera style and nobody was to blame but me, if I 
 did n't like it. Now John Brown's Body, I like that, and 
 when they all sang that, I joined right in, same as any 
 of them. For I knew I knew that tune. But first one 
 looked round at me, and then another looked round at 
 me, as if something was the matter. I thought I saw 
 'em smiling. Then I kept still. But I did n't know I 
 was singing wrong. O, I do wish I knew what this sing 
 ing is ! Seems easy enough. Now when the tuue goes 
 up loud, I go up loud, and when that goes down low, I 
 go down low. But Dorry says it is n't singing. Says 
 't is discord. But I can't tell discord from any other 
 cord, and he says the harder I try, the worse noise I 
 make. I do wish I could roar out that Glory Hallelu 
 jah ! for I feel the tune inside of me, but it never comes 
 out right. Dorry laughs when I set out to sing. He 
 says I chase the tune up and down all the way through,
 
 228 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 and never hit it ! Now, if 't is right inside, why can't it 
 come out right ? I don't see ! 
 
 We went into a large room to eat refreshments, and I 
 wish Aunt Phebe could see the things we had. And 
 taste of them too. I saved the frosting off my cake for 
 Tommy. 'T is wrapped up in a paper in my trunk. 
 'Tis different from your frosting, good deal harder. I 
 had a sort of funny time in that room. Somebody had 
 to hit rny elbow when I was passing custard to a girl, 
 and joggled over a mess of it on to her white dress and 
 my trousers. I whipped out my pocket-handkerchief to 
 sop it up, and whipped out that little blue book. Some 
 body picked it up, and one young man, that had been 
 cutting up all the evening, Maud Grey's cousin, he got 
 hold of it and read her name and called out to her to 
 come get her present, and made a good deal of fun about 
 it, and began to read it loud. She wanted to know who 
 brought it, and somebody told her I was the one. I be 
 gan to grow red as fire, but all of a sudden I thought, 
 Now, Billy, what 's the use ? So I said very plain, 
 " Miss Grey, Lame Betsey sent you that book." She 
 did n't laugh very much, only smiled and asked me to 
 tell Lame Betsey she was glad that she remembered her. 
 Guess she thought I looked bashful, for afterwards she 
 asked me if I would n't try a polka with her. I don't 
 think she 's very proud, for when I was looking at a 
 painted vase, she came and told me how it was done, 
 for all I was n't much acquainted with her. She 
 talked to me as easy and sociable as if she 'd been 
 Lucy Maria. 
 
 A company of us got together in one of the rooms
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 229 
 
 and ate our ice-creams there, and while we were eating 
 them, we beheaded words. Lucy Maria must read this 
 letter, for she '11 want to know how. When you behead 
 a word you take off the first letter. It 's fun, when 
 you get beheading them fast. The spelling must n't be 
 changed. Dorry made some of these. I did n't. I 
 could n't think fast enough. 
 
 Behead an article of dress, and you leave a farming 
 tool. 
 
 Shoe hoe. 
 
 I '11 put the rest of the answers at the bottom, so as to 
 give all of you a chance to guess what they are. 
 
 1. Behead what leads men to fight, and you leave the 
 cause of much misery, sin, and death. 
 
 2. Behead what young ladies are said to be fond of, 
 and you leave a young lady. 
 
 3. Behead what comes nearest the hand, and you 
 leave what comes nearest the heart. 
 
 4. Behead something sweet, and it leaves an address 
 to the sweet. 
 
 5. Behead part of a coach, and you leave part of 
 yourself. Behead that, and you leave a fish. 
 
 6. Behead a rogue, and you leave a musician. 
 
 7. Behead an old-fashioned occupation, and you leave 
 what prevents many a parting. 
 
 8. Behead a part of ladies' apparel, and you leave 
 what is higher than the king. 
 
 9. Behead what always comes hard, and you leave 
 what makes things go easy. 
 
 10. Behead a weapon, and you leave a fruit. Behead 
 that, and you leave part of the body.
 
 230 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 1. Drum, rum. 6. Sharper, harper. 
 
 2. Glass, lass. 7. Spin, pin. 
 
 3. Glove, love. 8. Lace, ace. 
 
 4. Molasses, O Lasses ! 9. Toil, oil. 
 
 5. Wheel, heel, eel. 10. Spear, pear, ear. 
 
 Sometimes they make them in rhyme. 
 
 Behead what is born in the fire, 
 
 And lives but a moment or so, 
 
 For it can't live long you know, 
 And you leave what all admire. 
 
 Where grass so green doth grow, 
 
 And trees in many a row. 
 Behead this last, and you leave in its place 
 What once preserved the human race. 
 
 Spark, park, ark. 
 
 Behead a musical term so sweet, 
 
 And you leave what runs without any feet. 
 
 Behead again, and, sad to tell, 
 
 You leave what is sick and never gets well. 
 To what is left add the letter D, 
 And yon have a lawyer of high degree. 
 
 Trill, rill, ill. " LL D." 
 
 I 've got something a good deal funnier to tell, but 
 I 'm going to write all about that in Lucy Maria's 
 letter. I guess she '11 be very glad when she gets that 
 letter, for *t will tell her how to do something very funny. 
 I will send her the story of it too, so she won't have to 
 make up anything herself. Don't you think I had a 
 pretty good time? I hope my sister is well, and hope 
 you all are. Lucy Maria must read this letter. She
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 231 
 
 could make those beheadings quicker 'n lightning. I 
 am well. Don't believe I shall ever be sick. 
 From your affectionate Grandson, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. I 've been to a lecture on good health. The 
 man said there were two parts to the air, a good part 
 and a poison part, and every time we breathe we keep 
 in the good part, and breathe out the poison part. So 
 if a room were sealed up, air-tight, a man living in it 
 would soon die, for he would use up all the good part 
 and leave the poison part. So we ought to always let 
 fresh air in, that has n't been breathed. He says in a 
 crowded room, if there is no fresh air coming in, we 
 have to use over what other folks have breathed, 
 whether they are sick or well. -ry TT 
 
 What with our young friend's frequent visits to the Two 
 Betseys, his attendance at the dancing-school, and going to 
 parties and to lectures, it would seem as though his time was 
 not wholly taken up with his studies. Among William 
 Henry's letters to Lucy Maria I find the following one about 
 the Dwarf, and with it, in Lucy Maria's handwriting, I find 
 a copy of the Narrative alluded to. 
 
 William Henry to Lucy Maria. 
 
 DEAR COUSIN, 
 
 I guess you will want to know how this was done, that 
 I 'm going to write about, so I will tell you about it, then 
 .you will know how to make one out of Tommy, but I 
 guess a bigger boy would be better. It does n't make 
 much difference about the size, if he can keep a sober
 
 232 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 face while somebody tells a story about him, and do the 
 things he 's told to. I could n't guess how 't was done 
 till Bubby Short told me. Bubby Short was the dwarf. 
 He was invited on purpose, because he is up to all kinds 
 of fun, and can act dialogues, be an old man, or old 
 woman, or anything you want him to. I will tell you ex 
 actly how 't was done, so you will know. And I will send 
 you the Narrative to copy. But you can't keep it very 
 long. It was given to Bubby Short. The showman 
 was Maud Grey's cousin. He was dressed in a turban, 
 with long robes, and he had black rings made round his 
 eyes, and his face was tatooed with a lead-pencil. 
 Course he made up the story and made the pictures to it 
 too. But he pretended he got them in the dwarfs coun 
 try, that was named " Empskutia." I thought maybe 
 you 'd like to read it, then if you made one you could 
 think of something to say. 'T was only meant for the 
 little ones, he said, but we all liked to hear it. No 
 matter if it was nonsense, we did n't care. Now, I '11 
 begin. 
 
 First, they had a table, with a long table-cloth on it 
 that touched the floor. It must touch the floor, so as to 
 hide the real feet of the one that 's going to be the dwarf. 
 When Bubby Short was all ready he sat down to the 
 table, same as if he 'd been doing his examples or eating 
 his dinner, sat facing the company and waited for the 
 curtain to rise. Course you have to have a curtain. 
 The table-cloth covered the lower part of him. His own 
 hands and arms were turned into feet and legs for the 
 dwarf. I '11 tell you how. The arms had little trousers 
 on them, and the hands were put into nice little button-
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 233 
 
 boots, so they looked like legs and feet. He was all 
 stuffed out above his waist, and had on a stiff shirt bosom, 
 and breastpin, and necktie, and false whiskers, and a 
 wig made of black curled hair, and a tasselled cap, with 
 a gilt band round it. He crooked his arms at the elbows 
 and laid them flat on the table, with the button-boots 
 towards the curtain, so when the curtain went up it looked 
 like a little dwarf sitting down, facing the company. 
 Now I must tell you where the dwarf 's arms and hands 
 came from. For you know that Bubby Short's arms 
 and hands were made into legs and feet for the dwarf. 
 Now to make arms, he had on a little coat, with the 
 sleeves of it stuffed out to look like arms, and then a stuffed 
 pair of white cotton gloves was sewed on to the sleeves, 
 to look like hands, and these gloves were pinned together 
 by the fingers in front of his waist so as to look like 
 clasped hands. 
 
 The showman asked him to do different things. Asked 
 him to try to stand up. Then Bubby Short began to 
 get up, very slow, as if 'twas tough work to do it, and 
 let his arms straighten themselves down, and looked just 
 as if there was a little short fellow standing on the table. 
 I thought like enough you 'd like to know how, so as to 
 make one some time, out of Tommy or some bigger boy 
 that knows how to whistle. The showman made his 
 dwarf whistle a funny tune, and told us 't was an air of 
 his native country. Then made him step out the tune 
 with his little button-boots, and it seemed just like a little 
 dancing dwarf. The showman said that was the national 
 dance of his country. I guess Uncle Jacob would like to 
 see one. I guess his eyes would twinkle.
 
 234 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 When the curtain went up you ought to've heard the 
 folks roar ! Some of them thought 't was real. When 
 the company asked him if he could move his arms, he 
 shook his head, no. Then the showman said he could 
 make him do it, by whispering a charm in his ear. So 
 he went close up and whispered, and took out the pin that 
 pinned the gloves, in a secret way, and then the arms 
 dropped apart. All the way he could move his arms was 
 by shaking his body, and then only a little. The show 
 man said the fearful accident that stopped his growth lost 
 him the use of his arms, though he could dance and 
 whistle and make a bow [here he made him make a bow], 
 and could scratch his ear with his boot \here he scratched 
 his ear with the button-bvot-toe],but his brain was strong as 
 anybody's. Then afterwards he told how much he knew. 
 But you can read about it in the Narrative. He made 
 him crook his knees sideways. He could do this easy 
 enough, for 't was only the elbows bending outwards. 
 Then he made him sit down again. I don't believe any 
 of you ever saw anything so funny. The showman kept 
 a very sober face all the time, and 'most made us believe 
 every word of his story was true, and at the end he spoke 
 very loud and acted it out, like an orator. 
 Your affectionate Cousin, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY. 
 
 P. S. Will you please send back the picture of that crea 
 ture we sent you once ? We want to do something with 
 it. I put in the Narrative some of the things the audience 
 did.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 235 
 
 NARKATIVE. 
 
 MY DEAR YOUNG FRIENDS, 
 
 Hyladdu Alizamrald, the unfortunate gentleman now 
 before you, was born in the country of Empskutia, on 
 the borders of the great unknown region of Phlezzo- 
 gripotamia, which lies beyond the sources of the river 
 Phlezzra. He was the only child of a nobleman, whose 
 wealth was unbounded, and whose power was immense. 
 The day of his birth was made a day of rejoicing 
 throughout the city. Not only were fountains of wine 
 set flowing, that none might go athirst (for the Emp- 
 skutians are driest when they 're happiest), but living 
 fountains of milk also, that every child might, on that 
 happy day, drink its fill of the pure infantine fluid. It 
 is perhaps needless to remark that these last were cows, 
 driven in from the surrounding plains. 
 
 Hyladdu was an infant of great promise, and bade fair 
 to become the pride of his native land, instead of being 
 of being pardon my emotion. [Showman puts 
 handkerchief to his eyes. Hyladdu wipes aicay a tear 
 with his boot-toe.] Yes, gentlemen and ladies [calmer], 
 at his birth there seemed to be no reason why Hyladdu's 
 head should not ri.se as far towards the clouds as will 
 yours, my smiling young friends before me. Briefly, he 
 was not born a dwarf. Shall I relate how this sweet 
 flower of promise was nipped in the bud? [The audi 
 ence cry, " Yes ! yes ! " Hyladdu, takes his handkerchief 
 in both boots and wipes his eyes.] 
 
 Listen, then. When Hyladdu had reached the age of 
 eighty-one days eighty-one being the third multiple
 
 236 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 of three his parents, according to the custom of the 
 country, summoned to the cradle of the young child a 
 Thulsk. 
 
 The Thulski are a tall, mysterious race of prophets, 
 known only in Empskutia, who attain to an unknown age. 
 Many of them cannot even remember their own boy 
 hood. These prophets are reverenced by all the people. 
 As year after year is added to their life, they grow thin, 
 dark, and shrivelled, like mummies. The skin is dry and 
 hangs loose about the bones. The hair is long and white, 
 and every year adds to its length and its whiteness, while 
 the eyes seem blacker and more piercing. They wear 
 very high black caps, square, and carry in the hand a 
 peculiar flower, a snow-white flower, having five petals, 
 which grows in secret places, and which, even if found, 
 no other person ever dare to pluck, lest its peculiar 
 smell should work a charm upon them. None but the 
 Thulski themselves know when and where the Thulski 
 die. If they have graves they are unknown graves, 
 though it is a common belief in the country that the mys 
 terious white-petalled flower blooms only in their burial- 
 places. During life they live apart from all others, sel 
 dom speaking, even when mingled in the busy crowd. 
 
 The order of the Thulski is kept up in this way- 
 Their chief, clad in long dark robes, wanders silently 
 the streets, and when, among the children at play, he dis 
 covers one who has some peculiar mark about him, the 
 nature of this mark is unknown, he beckons, and the 
 child follows him. Must follow him. For that silent 
 beckoning joins him to their order. He is from that mo 
 ment a Thul.sk, and has no wish to escape.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 237 
 
 Now, although to be a Thulsk is to be certain of long 
 life, yet no mother desires this fate for her child, but, on 
 the contrary, children are warned against them, and have 
 among themselves a secret sign, a rapid motion of the 
 fingers, which means " scatter ! " And if, when they are 
 at play, the white-haired prophet is seen, though even at 
 a givat distance, this sign is rapidly made, and the little 
 flock disappears so instantly, one would suppose the earth 
 had swallowed them. You will see, before my melan 
 choly story is finished, what all this has to do with Hy- 
 laddu's misfortune. 
 
 As I was saying, when he had attained the age of 
 eighty-one days, eighty-one being the third multiple 
 of three, his parents, according to the custom of the 
 Empskutians, summoned one of these prophets to the 
 cradle of their child, that his fortunes might be foretold. 
 
 The weird, shrivelled old Thulsk, with his flowing 
 white hair, wrapped his dark robes about him, and sat si 
 lently at the low cradle, gazing upon the sleeping child. 
 At length he arose, with a look of sorrow, and would have 
 departed without uttering a single word. 
 
 " Speak ! speak ! " cried the father. 
 
 " Ah, do not speak ! " murmured the mother ; for she 
 perceived that the prophet foresaw evil. " Yet speak, 
 yes, speak ! " she cried. " Let us know the worst, that 
 we may prepare ourselves." 
 
 The prophet then made a reply, of which these five 
 words are a translation : 
 
 " Sorrow cometh sufficiently soon. Wait ! " 
 
 But, on being very earnestly entreated, he disclosed 
 that before the beautiful infant attained his sixth year
 
 238 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 six being the double of three he would sustain injuries 
 from a fall, by which either his mind or his body would 
 be blighted. Which, it was not given him to say. He 
 added that it grieved him to still further disclose that he 
 himself would be in some way connected with the child's 
 misfortune, though in what way even his prophetic vis 
 ion could not foresee. 
 
 Now it may readily be supposed that the parents 
 spared no pains to ward off from their child thn unknown 
 danger. The upper windows were immediately fastened 
 down, fresh air being secured by means of hinges on 
 each square of gla^s. As soon as he could walk sen 
 tinels were placed at every flight of stairs, and to keep 
 him out of the cellar, a neighboring wine-merchant was 
 invited to store his goods there, so that wine-butts took 
 up every inch of room, from floor to ceiling. Ladders 
 and movable steps he was not allowed the sight of, and 
 as it seems as natural for boys to climb trees as to breathe 
 the air around them, every tree in the grounds was pro 
 tected by sharp iron teeth. 
 
 The longing which every boy has to climb is called 
 the climbing ins-tinct. In Hyladdu the climbing instinct 
 was nipped in the bud, smothered, crushed, kept under, 
 He was forbidden to swing on gates, taught to avoid 
 fence-posts, lamp-posts, and flag-staffs, and to look upon 
 hills as summits of danger. Of shinning, he knew but 
 the name. And that the very idea of climbing might be 
 kept from his mind, all climbing plants were rooted out 
 from the grounds; not even a morning-glory was allowed 
 to run up a string! By these means the anxious parents 
 hoped to prevent what the Thulsk had foretold, from.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 239 
 
 coming to pass. " For," said they, " if he never goes up, 
 he can never fall down." But mark now how all these 
 precautions were the very means of making the prophecy 
 prove true. For, had he only been taught to climb, and 
 had been accustomed to high places, that sad accident 
 might not have taken place and the blighted individual 
 before you might now have been one of the flowers of his 
 country ! \_Emotion.~] Pardon me, friends. Tears 
 come unbidden. [Showman holds handkerchief to his 
 eyes. Dwarf ditto, with boots.~\ 
 
 Imagine now the dear child, grown a beautiful boy of 
 five summers, a boy of beaming blue eyes, and a rosy 
 cheek ! of flaxen curls and a graceful mention ! The 
 idol of his parents, the joy of his friends ! Sweet in dis 
 position, of tender feelings, quick to learn, truthful, 
 Affectionate, gentle in his manners, winning in his ways, 
 no wonder that he was so well beloved ! 
 
 It was only one short week before his sixth birthday, 
 and his friends were trembling with joy, that the fatal 
 time had so nearly passed, when the calamity which had 
 so long hung over him like a cloud descended upon 
 him like a thunderbolt ! In other words, he lacked but 
 a week of six, and all were rejoicing that the danger was 
 nearly passed, when the event happened. 
 
 Hyladdu, being, like most boys, of a playful turn 
 ^f mind, was sometimes permitted to join in the games 
 of other Children, in front of his father's mansion, ta- 
 ^ended always by a faithful servant. On this particular 
 flay they were amusing themselves by playing with 
 lorne silver-coated marbles, a box of which had been pre 
 sented to Hyladdu by his grandmother, who was one of 
 the court ladies.
 
 240 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 A very pretty group they were. The children of that 
 country, like their fathers, were dressed in long white 
 robes, with bright sashes. On their heads they wore caps 
 of blue or scarlet, which turned up with points before, be 
 hind, and at each side. On each point a little silver bell 
 was hung, that the servants might have less difficulty in 
 following them about. Their shoes were pointed at the toes. 
 
 Among those silver marbles was an " alley " of great 
 beauty, glistening with rubies, and inlaid with pearl. 
 This alley never was played for in earnest. [Here the 
 dwarf beckons to the showman, and whispers in his ear.] 
 He informs me that the laws forbade playing in earnest. 
 I will now finish as rapidly as possible. 
 
 In the course of the game, this precious " alley " rolled 
 a long distance, until it came to a brick in the pavement, 
 which was set slanting, or had become so by a sinking 
 of the ground underneath. This brick gave the u alley " 
 a turn sideways to the left, and it rolled at last through 
 a crack in the garden fence, and hid itself in the grass. 
 The servant, in great haste, darted through the gate in 
 search of it. 
 
 Meanwhile, slowly down the street, though at a dis 
 tance, a Thulsk was approaching. It was the same who 
 had nearly six years before sat by Hyladdu's cradle. 
 He walked silently on, his eyes cast down, his hands 
 clasped, holding between them the five-petalled flower. 
 One of the boys, perceiving him, made the sign of warn 
 ing. Instantly they scattered, like a flock of pigeons, 
 leaving their little silver-belled caps on the ground. 
 Hyladdu, seeing the cellar open, would have hidden him 
 self there, but no space was left between the wine-butts.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 241 
 
 A much larger boy seized his hand and pulled him into 
 a strange house, and then, in his fright, dragged him 
 through long passage-ways, and up seven flights of stairs; 
 for the Empskutians build their houses to an immense 
 height. Here they sat down to breathe awhile, and 
 Hyladdu begged the boy to go for the faithful servant, 
 that he might lead him home. 
 
 Now no sooner was the boy gone than Hyladdu be 
 gan to look about him, and presently he discovered a 
 slender staircase going still higher. Having climbed 
 seven flights wilh help, he felt no fear in attempting the 
 eighth alone. This slender staircase conducted him to 
 the roof of the building. [Emotion and handkerchief.] 
 Excuse my emotion. But when I think what might 
 have happened, if something else had not happened to 
 prevent, when I think that he might have fallen from that 
 immense height, to be dashed in pieces beneath, I I 
 But I will let my story take its course. 
 
 And now let me tell you that the people of Emp- 
 skutia were very fond of the beautiful. The streets were 
 adorned with ornamental trees, and over the roofs of the 
 houses were trained flowering vines, which ran to the 
 highest peak of cupola or chimney, and, blooming sweetly 
 there, filled the whole air with fragrance. It was the 
 custom of the people to place stout iron hooks along the 
 eaves of their dwellings, from which were suspended im 
 mense flower-pots of various beautiful designs. In these 
 pots the flowering vines took root and from thence not 
 only climbed the roof, but trailed gracefully down, thus 
 giving the city a festive appearance, like a never-ending 
 gala-day. 
 
 10 p
 
 242 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 When Hyladdu looked out from the top of that last 
 eighth flight, the long-smothered instinct of climbing burst 
 out like a hidden fire. It would not be restrained. Ah, 
 now will be seen the folly of crushing that instinct. Had 
 he only have been accustomed to dizzy heights, made 
 familiar with danger, how different might have been his 
 fate ! [Emotion.] 
 
 The instinct of climbing, as I said, was now strong 
 upon him ! No sooner did he perceive that there was 
 still a height to gain than he resolved to gain that 
 height. Nothing less would satisfy him than sitting 
 si -Tide the ridgepole, where a pair of bright-feathered 
 birds had built their nest, and were then feeding their 
 young. He ventured out, made his way cautiously up, 
 holding on by the vines. Ah, could his parents have 
 seen him then ! 
 
 He arrived at the top, and there, seated on that 
 lofty pinnacle, surrounded by beautiful flowers, he gazed 
 on the scene below, and enjoyed a new happiness For 
 the first time in his life he looked down from a height ! 
 for the first time in his life he gazed abroad over a wide 
 extended country ! 
 
 Such pleasure he had never known, and the faithful 
 servant, anxiously searching, might have found him 
 there, still enjoying it, but for a pretty little bluebird, 
 that flew suddenly down and startled him, while he was 
 gazing at some object far away. This little bird came 
 flying through the air, and alighted for an instant on 
 the child's head, thinking perhaps to make its nest in the 
 soft curls, or it might have thought his rosy lips were 
 cherries. The suddenness with which it came startled.
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 243 
 
 Hyladdu. He trembled, he lost his hold, slipped, then 
 caught by a vine, it gave way, he slipped again, but, 
 having no skill in climbing, slipped lower and lower, and 
 would have fallen from the roof and been dashed in 
 pieces, but for that custom which was mentioned just 
 now, of suspending large flower-pots from the eaves. It 
 happened that his course lay directly to wards one of these 
 iron ' hooks. He dropped, therefore, into the immense 
 flower-pot beneath, "where he lay as secure as a babe in 
 its cradle ! 
 
 From this frightful position he was at length rescued 
 by one of the hook and ladder company of that city, 
 and placed in his mother's arms. His own arms were 
 nearly paralyzed by his frantic efforts to cling to some 
 support, so that ever afterwards he could move them but 
 very slightly, as you perceive. \Dwarf moves his arms 
 slightly, by shaking his body.] And though the child's 
 life was spared, yet the terrible fright had the effect of 
 stopping his growth ! Yes, my young friends, Hyladdu 
 never grew more, except in wisdom ! The innocent 
 cause of all this, the poor sorrowing grandmother, died 
 of remorse ! 
 
 And now my story becomes a more pleasing one to 
 tell. Although the child's body remained dwarfed in 
 size, yet his heart grew in goodness, and his mind grew 
 in knowledge, and he was beloved and respected by all. 
 Debarred earthly mountains, he mounted the heights of 
 learning. The climbing instinct, which his body could 
 not satisfy, was developed in his mind. He craved 
 bonks, he craved whole libraries. Teacher after teacher 
 came, all exhausting upon him their treasures of knowU
 
 244 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 edge. Music and drawing, studied scientifically, were 
 his amusements. He mastered astronomy, mineralogy, al 
 gebra, conchology, trigonometry, physiology, engineering, 
 metaphysics, technology, geology, phrenology, also for 
 eign languages unnumbered, with all the literature be 
 longing to each. [Sensation in the audience.] And 
 wlien at last the storehouses of wisdom seemed ex 
 hausted, a report reached him of a great country beyond 
 the seas, called the United States of America, in whose 
 excellent schools there remains something yet to learn ! 
 \_Applausefrom the audience.] 
 
 He studied the written language of that country, 
 read its history, and resolved to seek its shores. For 
 he longed to behold the land of the Revolutionary War ; 
 to read the Declaration of Independence, and to stand 
 upon the grave of Old John Brown ! [App1ause.~\ 
 
 He had heard of Bunker's Hill. Travellers said that 
 upon whomsoever rested the shadow of its monument, 
 that person possessed forever after the unflinching brav 
 ery of those who bled and perished there ! [ Cheers.'] 
 He had heard of Plymouth Rock [Cheers'], and been 
 told that his foot once planted firmly upon it, he would 
 feel springing up within him all the heroism, the self- 
 sacrifice, and the everlasting perseverance of the glorious 
 Pilgrim Fathers ! [Prolonged cheering.] 
 
 I have now, my young friend*, told you, very briefly, 
 the history of this remarkable character. His age is 
 thirty-four years. He is of a cheerful disposition, hav 
 ing long ago resolved to look his misfortune steadily in 
 the face and make the best of it. In books, where are 
 treasures stored up by the scholars of all past time, he
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 245 
 
 finds a never-ending pleasure. Though dwarfed in stat 
 ure, he is resolved to make a man of himself, and will 
 fight it out on that line if it takes all summer. For he 
 early adopted for his motto, these beautiful lines of Dr. 
 Watts, 
 
 " Were I so tall as to reach the pole, 
 Or grasp the ocean in my span, 
 I should be measured by my soul. 
 The mind 's the standard of the man." 
 
 [Applause. 
 (Curtain falls.) 
 
 I once heard the above narrative repeated by Joe in a 
 truly theatrical manner. On the same occasion I also saw 
 the picture of the " creature " to which William Henry refers 
 in his postscript to the Dwarf Letter. 
 
 Uncle Jacob hailed me one day as I was coming from my 
 office, and after driving close to the curbstone, informed me 
 that Cousin Joe and his accordion had arrived, both in good 
 health and spirits. AL-o, that Billy's school had met with a 
 very sudden vacatioq, caused either by flues, or furnaces, or 
 both, having something the matter with them, and the young 
 rascal would be at home that evening, and I must come 
 without fail. " Of course you know," said he, " 't is a pretty 
 hard thing for Billy havmg to give up his studies, so he 's 
 coming home to his friends. Nothing like being among 
 friends when you 're in trouble ? " 
 
 Now this ws by no means a remarkable event. Only a 
 boy coming home for a few days to see his folks. Still, an 
 occasion which worked Grandmother up to the pitch of put 
 ting on her best cap should not be passed over in silence. 
 
 I went out to the Farm that evening, and on arriving found 
 Cousin Joe, and the accordion, and Aunt Phebe's family, with 
 a few relatives whom I had never met before, all assembled at 
 Grandmother's. They had made up a fire in the " Franklin
 
 246 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 fireplace." This '' Franklin fireplace " was a sort of iron 
 framework, projecting from the chimney into the room. The 
 top was flit, with brass balls on the corners. It had iron 
 hides, which " flared out," and a rounded iron hearth of its 
 own, about an inch above the brick hearth, and shining brass 
 andirons. 
 
 No one could wish for a brighter room, I thought, for there 
 was the light from the fire, the light from the " lights," and 
 the light from all those smiling faces ! An inviting supper- 
 table was set out, covered dishes were " keeping warm " on 
 the hearth and " frame," and everything was ready and wait 
 ing for William Henry. Mr. Carver had gone to the sta 
 tion, and they were expected back every moment. 
 
 Georgiana was very busy over a skein of blue sewing-silk. 
 She informed me that that was the first whole skein of sewing- 
 silk she ever had in all her life, and that it came from a bun 
 dle of all colors, which Cousin Joe gave to Hannah Jane. It 
 brought trouble with it, as it is said all earthly possessions do, 
 and snarled at all her attempts to coax it on to a spool. 
 Tommy, sober as a judge, was holding it for her to wind. He 
 sat in a little chair, with his legs crossed. His mother said he 
 was very particular to cross his legs, so as to seem more like a 
 man. 
 
 Lucy Maria had just persuaded Grandmother to put on her 
 best, double stringed, whife-ribboned cap, in honor of Wil 
 liam Henry. It was the very one he brought her so long 
 ago, but was still as good as new, having very seldom seen 
 the light of day, or of evening, since it first came home in 
 the bandbox. She had als-o been coaxed into her second-best 
 dress, and then into the rocking-chair. Lucy Maria tied her 
 cap under the chin, with the narrow strings, and smoothed 
 down the wide ones. 
 
 " You have no idea, Grandmother," said she. " You have 
 n't the faintest idea how well you look ! "
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 2-17 
 
 " 'T is too dressy for me," said Grandmother. " It don't 
 feel natural on my head." 
 
 " Now I should think," said Uncle Jacob, " that a cap would 
 feel more natural on anybody's head than anywhere ! " 
 
 " It looks natural." said Lucy Maria, " I 'm sure it does. 
 Looks as if it grew there ! " 
 
 u And only think how 't will please Billy! "said Aunt 
 Phebe. 
 
 The " Map of the United States " had been brought out of 
 tie front room, and placed over the mantel-piece. And 
 Lucy Maria, for fun, s>he said, and to pay a delicate compli 
 
 ment to the artist, had fastened a few sprays of upland cran 
 berry around it. And, also, for fun, she pinned up near it 
 a little picture, which I had quite a laugh over, and which, 
 she said, was the renowned Megotharium, in the act of feed 
 ing, drawn by the famous artist, William Henry, assisted by 
 his brother artist, Dorry. The picture, she added, was not an 
 original, but merely a copy done by a female. A photograph 
 of these two artists, sitting side by side, was exhibited, under 
 neath the picture. 
 
 Cousin Joe said that creature beat all his going to sea. 
 This young sailor, by the way, must have made a jolly ship 
 mate. He was full of his jokes and his tricks. Tried to 
 twirl Tommy round, by rubbing him between his two hands,
 
 248 THE WILVAM HENRY LETTERS 
 
 as one does a top, telling him that was the way the Hot f er- 
 tots did to take the mischie" out of b -ys ! 
 
 Aunt Phebe said she thorght if the Hottentots knew an v 
 way of taking the mischief ovt of boys, and were o"t of 
 work, they might find employment in this country. 
 
 Tommy begged to pi ty " one tune," and was allowed to. 
 Cousin Joe declared that " that ?C"ordion was played every 
 wave of the way across the Atlanta," either by himself or by 
 one of the sailors, and that sometimes the mermaids sang to its 
 music ! Asked Tommy if he would likr to hear the tune the. 
 mermaids sang ? Tummy said he should 'ather wait till after 
 supper. This was the way in which, company being present, 
 the young chap let it be known that he was hungry. 
 
 Grandmother wondered, then, why they did n't c-ome, and 
 went to look out of the window, putting up both hands, to 
 keep the light of the room from her eyes ; then corned the 
 outside door, to listen for the whistle ; then went to lock at 
 the kitchen clock ; then came back, sajing it was a good deal 
 past the time, and what could be the mattr ? 
 
 She little knew who was behind, following her on tiptoe 
 into the room. William Henry himself! He was creeping 
 in at the sink room door, just as she turned to come back from 
 looking at the clock, and followed softly behind. She did n't 
 notice how very smiling we all looked. Billy shook his fingei 
 at us, to hush us. 
 
 " I hope there has n't anything happened to the cars," said 
 she. 
 
 " I hope so too ! " shouted Billy. And, by a miraculous 
 jump, he planted himself, square foot, in front of his grand 
 mother, who, of course, walked straight into his arms ! 
 
 Then everybody shouted, and clipped, and shook hands, 
 and kissed. The cap got twisted about, and as if there were 
 not confusion enough, Cousin Joe began to caper about, and 
 to play on his accordion tunes that were never played before !
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 249 
 
 Such a splendid fellow as Billy was ! Such a hearty, laugh 
 ing, breezy fellow, with his thick head of hair, " not so red as 
 it was," and his honest, good-natured face ! I did n't wonder 
 they were all so glad to see him. 
 
 " Welcome home, shipmate ! " shouted Cousin Joe. " Wel 
 come home ! How long '11 you be in port ? And worked 
 away at Billy's hand as if he 'd been pumping out ship. 
 
 " 'Most a week," said Billy. " Mind my fort- finger." 
 
 "Don't take long to stay at home a week," said Cousin 
 Joe, tossing up his accordion. 
 
 " That 's so," said Uncle Jacob. " Come, let 's be doing 
 something ! " 
 
 " That means, let 's be eating something," said Aunt 
 Phebe. " Come, girls, put everything on the table ! Billy, 
 how tall and spruce you do look ! Poor Grandmother, she 's 
 losing her little Billy ! " 
 
 " But what 's her loss is his gain ! " said Uncle Jacob. " I 
 speak to sit next the frosted cake. Where 's Tommy ? " 
 
 Tommy came in, tugging Billy's carpet-bag, which he found 
 in the kitchen, hoping, no doubt, there were goodies inside 
 for him. 
 
 We had a delightful " supper time," Grandmother, of course, 
 piling Billy's plate with everything good. 
 
 " I see," said Mr. Carver, " that whatever boys eat at 
 home grandmothers expect will agree with them ! " 
 
 The happy " young rascal " meanwhile bore the separation 
 from his studies with amazing fortitude ! Told no end of 
 funny stories about the boys, and about parties, and about 
 the Two Betseys. And twice, during supper, he exclaimed, 
 " I do hope nothing has happened to those cars. They were 
 such good cars ! " 
 
 My visits to the farm were always delightful, but during 
 that supper-time, and during that evening, I grudged every 
 moment as it flew away. 
 11*
 
 250 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 Uncle Jacob was in high glee, and insisted on being taught 
 " the graces," and on having his wife taught " the graces." 
 Then Lucy Maria " set her foot down " that every one should 
 stand in the row, and Billy should be Mr. Tornero. And, 
 being a girl of resolution, she coaxed every one into line, ex 
 cept Grandmother, who said her rheumatism should do her 
 some service then, if never before. 
 
 " The graces " were then taught, and learned, amid shouts 
 of laughter, Cousin Joe playing for us, and I '11 venture to 
 say that had Mr. Tornero been present, he would have been 
 astonished at our steps, and also at the music ! 
 
 Afterwards we had the dwarf shown off', Cousin Joe being 
 the showman. He declared after looking over the " Narra 
 tive," that Empskutia was a place well known to him, and 
 that he had often sailed up the " river Phlezzra," to trade 
 with the natives. Lucy Maria dressed him in a large-figured 
 red and green bedspread, pinned on to look like a loose robe, 
 with flowing sleeves, and girded about the waist with cords 
 and tassels taken from Aunt Phebe's parlor curtains. He 
 wore an immense lace collar, and a turban made of a white 
 muslin handkerchief (one that was Grandmother's mother's) 
 and besprinkled with artificial flowers. His face was tattooed 
 with a lead-pencil, and dark circles drawn around his eyes. 
 He held in his hand a slender rod, or wand. 
 
 The dwarf was a young cousin of William Henry's (not 
 Tommy), and he did his part well, whistling, bowing, dan 
 cing, sneezing, rising, sitting, with a perfectly sober face. 
 
 The showman then read the " Narrative," adding thereto 
 such ridiculous incidents, and such comical remarks, that the 
 audience were convulsed with laughter, and the face of the 
 dwarf twitched alarmingly. These twitchings, he (the show 
 man) said, were not unusual, and were the effects of the sad 
 occurrence then being narrated. The closing portions of the 
 story were declaimed in a powerful voice. He " acted out "
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 251 
 
 the " pole " and the " span," and at the third line, " I must be 
 measured by my soul" laid his hand upon his heart in the 
 most impressive manner, and remained in that position till 
 the curtain fell. 
 
 After this " John Brown " was sung, and William Henry 
 was permitted to roar out that " Glory Hallelujah " as loudly 
 as he pleased. 
 
 The following letter must have been written some time 
 after William Henry met with the affliction which was so 
 touchingly alluded to by Uncle Jacob, as above related, and 
 which that wretched youth felt could only be endured in the 
 bosom of his family ! In the interval it appears that he had 
 been removed from the Crooked Pond School, and that Dorry 
 had left also, to finish preparing himself for college in some 
 higher seminary of learning. 
 
 William Henry's Letter after leaving School. 
 
 DEAR DORRY, 
 
 I did n't know I was going to come away from school 
 so soon after you did, but there was a new High School 
 begun in our town about a mile and a half off, and my 
 father thought I could learn there, and learn to farm it 
 some too. But I don't think much of farming it. Course 
 't is fun to see things grow, after you 've planted the 
 seeds, and then watched 'em all the way up. My grand 
 mother says my father likes his corn so well, that he 
 pities it in a dry time, and when a gale blows it down 
 he pities it as much as if he 'd been blown down himself. 
 Weeds are enough to make a feller mad, coming up fast 
 as you kill 'em and sucking all the goodness out of the 
 ground that don't belong to them. Suppose they think 
 't is as much theirs as anybody's.
 
 252 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 I suppose you are studying away for college. I don't 
 know whether I wish I could go or not. I guess my 
 head would n't hold all 't would have to be put into it 
 before I went, and in all that four years too ! Now I 
 want to know if a feller can remember all that ? I mean 
 remember the beginning after all the other has been 
 piled top of it ? I don't know what I shall be yet. For 
 there is something bad about everything, Grandmother 
 says, and I believe it. Now I don't want to be a 
 farmer, because 't is hard work and poor pay, in 
 these parts. I guess I should like to go to Kansas. 
 But there are the Indians after your scalp, and feve* 
 and ague, and grasshoppers, and potato-bugs, and bean- 
 bugs, and army-worms to eat up everything, and 
 droughts to dry up everything, and floods to wash it 
 away, and hurricanes to blow it down, and Uncle Jacob 
 says if a man comes through all these alive, with a 
 few grains of corn, the man that wants to buy 'em is a 
 hundred miles off! But my father says, what is a man 
 good for that don't dare to go to sail without 't is on a 
 mill-pond ! For smooth water can't make a sailor. And 
 if a man is scared of lions, how will he get through the 
 woods. So I don't know yet what I shall be. What 
 ' should you, if you did n' go to college ? Go into a store ? 
 I tell you, Dorry, that if I was a dry-goods clerk, fenced 
 in behind a counter, I do believe I should ache to jump 
 over and put for somewhere and go to doing something. 
 But my father says you can't 1 always tell a man by what 
 his business is. For you 've got to allow for head work. 
 And because he sells shoe-strings, 't is no sign he has n't 
 got anything in his head but shoe-strings ; and because a
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 253 
 
 man drives nails, 't is no sign he has n't got anything but 
 nails in his head. " Now suppose," says he, " that a man 
 sells dry goods all day, can't he have some thoughts stowed 
 away in his brains that he got out of books, or got up 
 himself? And when he 's walking along home and back, 
 and evenings, can't he out with 'em and be thinking 'em 
 over ? I s'pose 't is n't time for me to have thoughts yet, 
 s'pose they '11 be dropping along in a year or two, " or 
 three at the most," as Lord Lovell said. One thing I 
 mean to have, and that is a good house with all the fix 
 ings, and money to spend, and money to give away if I 
 want to. So whatever I get started on, I mean to pitch 
 in and shove up ray sleeves, and go at it. Father says 
 I must be thinking the matter over, and not make my 
 mind up right off. They say going to sea is a dog's life. 
 I should like to go long enough to see what Spain looks 
 like, and China, and other places. Maybe I shall learn 
 a trade. Now, for instance, a carpenter's. That don't 
 seem much of a trade. Mostly pounding. But they 
 say if you keep on, and are smart at it, why, you get 
 to taking houses, and then you are not a carpenter any 
 longer, but a "builder," and money comes in. 
 
 I 'm going to let her rest a spell. Though I 'm so old 
 I can't help looking ahead some sometimes, to see where 
 I'm coming out. 
 
 Did n't you feel homesick any when you were coming 
 away from school ? I did, " quite some," as W. B. used 
 to say. I went round to all the places, and paddled in 
 the pond, and lay down on the grass to take one more 
 drink out of the brook, and climbed up in the Elm, and 
 ran up and down our stairs much as half a dozen
 
 254 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 
 
 times, without stopping, for I thought I never should 
 again. 
 
 I whittled a great sliver off the base-ball field fence to 
 fetch away ; did n't we use to have good times there ? 
 Bubby Short gave me his pocket-book, and I gave him 
 mine. They had about equal, inside. I went to bid 
 Gapper good-by, day before I came off, and gave Rosy 
 my little penknife. 
 
 Then I went to bid the two Betseys good-by, and 
 they wiped their eyes, and seemed about as if they 'd 
 been my grandmothers, and said I must come to eat 
 supper with them that afternoon. So I went. Me all 
 alone ! Had a funny kind of a time. We sat at that 
 round, three-legged stand, and I '11 tell you what we had. 
 Bannock and butter, sausages, flapjacks, and scalloped 
 cakes. All set on in saucers, for there was n't much 
 room. They had about supper enough for forty. For 
 they said they knew their appetites were nothing to 
 judge a hungry boy by, and I must eat a good deal and 
 not go by them, and kept handing things to me, and 
 every once in a while they 'd say, " Now don't be scared 
 of it, there 's more in the buttery ?" George ! Dorry, I 
 wish you could have seen that punkin-pie they had ! 
 'T was kept in a chair, a little ways off. I don't see 
 what 't was baked in. The Other Betsey said that was 
 just such a kind of a pie as her mother used to make. 
 I out with my ruler, and asked if I might measure it. 
 'T was about two feet across, and about four inches thick. 
 She said she thought 't was a good time to make one, 
 when they were going to have company. When I took 
 my piece I had to hold my ^late in my hand, for there
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 255 
 
 wasn't room on the stand. They wished you'd been 
 there, and so did I, and so would you, if you 'd seen that 
 pie. They did n't take down their best dishes, that we 
 had that other time, but called me one of the family and 
 used the poor ones. I had to look out about lifting up 
 the spoon-holder, because the bottom had been off, once, 
 and mind which sugar-bowl handle I took hold of, for 
 one side it was glued on. But everything held. I can't 
 bear tea, but they said 't was very warming and resting, 
 and I 'd better. I guess they put in about six spoonfuls 
 of sugar ! They wanted to know all about you, and said 
 you were a smart fellow. 
 
 They wanted me to take some little thing out of the 
 store, to remember them by. So I looked and looked to 
 find something that did n't cost very much, and at last I 
 pitched upon a pocket-comb. The Other Betsey put on 
 her glasses and scratched a B. on it, and said it could 
 stand for the two of 'em. But I told her she better 
 make two B.'s, for that would seem more like the Two 
 Betseys, and she did. Lame Betsey said one B. ought 
 to go lame, and the Other Betsey said she guessed they 
 both would, for she had poor eyesight, and her hand 
 shook, and nothing but a darning-needle to scratch with. 
 If I do break the comb I shall keep the handle, for I 
 think the Two Betseys are tip-top. I wish they could 
 come and see my grandmother. Would n't the three of 
 'em have a good time ! 
 
 Send a feller a letter once in a while, can't ye ? Say, 
 now, you Dorry, don't get too knowing to write to a 
 
 feller? 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY.
 
 256 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETEERS. 
 
 At this point the correspondence properly closes. As a 
 faithful editor, I have endeavored to let it tell its own story, 
 but must frankly acknowledge that at times, the pleasant 
 memories recalled by these Letters have tempted me, too far, 
 perhaps, beyond editorial bounds. This fault I freely con 
 fess, hoping to be as freely forgiven. Were it known how 
 much I have left unsaid, while longing to say it, I should re* 
 ceive not only forgiveness but praise. 
 
 In closing, I cannot do better than to add to the collection 
 an extract from a letter written to Mr. Carver by the Prin 
 cipal of the Crooked Pond School. 
 
 It seems that William Henry's new teacher proposed hie 
 taking up Latin, and that Mr. Carver being somewhat unde 
 cided about the matter, wrote to the Principal of the Crooked 
 School, asking his opinion. The Principal's reply, in as far 
 as it discusses the Latin question, would scarcely be in order 
 here. But the closing portion will, I know, be read with 
 pleasure by all who have taken an interest in William Henry. 
 He speaks of him thus : 
 
 " . . . . Allow me, sir, in concluding, to congratulate 
 you on the many good qualities of your son. He is one 
 of the boys that I feel sure of. We regret exceedingly 
 his leaving us, and I assure you that he carries with him 
 the best wishes of all here, teachers, pupils, and towns 
 people. I shall watch his course with deep interest. A 
 boy of his manly bearing, kind disposition, and high 
 moral principle will surely win his way to all hearts, as 
 he has done to ours. 
 
 With regard to his studies, though not, perhaps, a re 
 markably brilliant scholar, he has, on the whole, done 
 well. For the first few months, it is true, we rather de 
 spaired of awakening an interest. He was too fond of
 
 THE WILLIAM HENRY LETTERS. 257 
 
 play, too unwilling to come under our pretty strict 
 discipline. Observing how heartily he entered into all 
 games, and that he excelled in them, it occurred to us, 
 that if the same ambition and pluck shown on the play 
 ground could be aroused in the schoolroom, our object 
 would be gained. This, by various means, we have tried 
 to accomplish, and I am happy to add, with good suc 
 cess. Your son, sir, is a boy to be proud of. 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 It so happened that I called at tfre Farm the very day on 
 which this reply was received, and just as Grandmother had 
 finished reading it. 
 
 As I entered the room she looked up, and without speaking 
 handed me the letter. Tears stood in her eyes, and I saw 
 that something had touched her deeply. 
 
 " Any bad news ? " I asked. 
 
 " No," she answered, in a tremulous voice. " But to think 
 Oi that schoolmaster's finding out what was in that child ! ' '
 
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