not taking time
even to cry over her troubles. "But oh, the learning! they must have
that!"

"Now," said Polly, "how'll we do it Ben?" as they ranged themselves
around the table, on which reposed the cakes; "you begin."

"How do folks begin a letter?" asked Ben in despair, of his mother.

"How did Jasper begin his?" asked Mrs. Pepper back again. "Oh," cried
Polly, running into the bedroom to get the precious missive. "Dear Miss
Polly'--that's what it says."

"Well," said Mrs. Pepper, "then you'd better say, 'Dear Mister
Jasper'--or you might say, 'Dear Mr. King.'"

"Oh, dear!" cried Polly, "that would be the father then--s'pose he
should think we wrote to him!" and Polly looked horror-stricken to the
last degree.

"There, there 'tis," said Ben: "'Dear Mister Jasper'--now what'll we
say?"

"Why, say about the cakes," replied Polly.

"And the 'gingerbread boy," cried Phronsie. "Oh, tell about him, Polly,
do."

"Yes, yes, Phronsie," said Polly, "we will--why, tell him how we wish
he could have come, and that we baked him some cakes, and that we do so
want him to come just as soon as he can."

"All right!" said Ben; so he went to work laboriously; only his
hard breathing showing what a hard task it was, as the stiff old pen
scratched up and down the paper.

"There, that's done," he cried at length in great satisfaction, holding
it up for inspection.

"Oh, I do wish," cried Polly in intense admiration, "I could write so
nice and so fast as you can, Ben."

"Read it, Polly," said Mrs. Pepper, in pride.

So Polly began: "Dear Mister Jasper we were all dreadfully sorry
that you didn't come and so we baked you some cakes.'--You didn't say
anything about his being sick, Ben."

"I forgot it," said Ben, "but I put it in farther down--you'll see if
you read on."

"Baked you some cakes--that is, Polly did, for this is Ben that's
writing."

"You needn't said that, Ben," said Polly, dissatisfied; "we all baked
'em, I'm sure. 'And just as soon as you get well we do want you to come
over and have the baking. We're real sorry you're sick--boneset's good
for colds."

"Oh, Ben!" said Mrs. Pepper, "I guess his father knows what to give
him."

"And oh! the bitter stuff!" cried Polly, with a wry face. "Well, it's
hard work to write," said Ben, yawning. "I'd rather chop wood."

"I wish! knew how," exclaimed Joel, longingly.

"Just you try every day; Ben'll teach you, Joe," said his mother,
eagerly, "and then I'll