let you write."

"I will!" cried Joe; "then, Dave, you'll see how I'll write--I tell
you!"

"And I'm goin' to--ma, can't I?" said Davie, unwilling to be outdone.

"Yes, you may, be sure," said Mrs. Pepper, delighted; "that'll make a
man of you fast."

"Oh, boys," said Polly, lifting a very red face, "you joggle the table
so I can't do anything."

"I wasn't jogglin'," said Joel; "the old thing tipped. Look!" he
whispered to Davie, "see Polly, she's writing crooked."

So while the others hung around her and looked over her shoulder while
they made their various comments, Polly finished her part, and also held
it up for inspection.

"Let us see," said Ben, taking it up.

"It's after, 'boneset's good for colds,'" said Polly, puckering up her
face again at the thought.

"We most of us knew you were sick--I'm Polly now--because you didn't
come; and we liked your letter telling us so. Oh, Polly! we weren't glad
to hear he was sick!" cried Ben, in horror.

"I didn't say so!" cried Polly, starting up. "Why, Ben Pepper, I never
said so!" and she looked ready to cry.

"It sounds something like it, don't it, mammy?" said Ben, unwilling to
give her pain, but appealing to Mrs. Pepper.

"Polly didn't mean it," said her mother consolingly; "but if I were you,
I'd say something to explain it."

"I can't put anything in now," said poor Polly; "there isn't any room
nor any more paper either--what shall I do! I told you, Ben, I couldn't
write." And Polly looked helplessly from one to the other for comfort.

"Yes, you can," said Ben; "there, now I'll show you: write it fine,
Polly--you write so big--little bits of letters, like these."

So Polly took the pen again with a sigh. "Now he won't think so, I
guess," she said, much relieved, as Ben began to read again.

"I'll begin yours again," Ben said: "We most of us knew you were sick
because you didn't come, and we liked your letter telling us so because
we'd all felt so badly, and Phronsie cried herself to sleep--" (that's
good, I'm sure.) "The 'gingerbread boy' is for your father--please
excuse it, but Phronsie would make it for him because he is sick. There
isn't any more to write, and besides I can't write good, and Ben's
tired. From all of us."

"Why, how's he to know?" cried Ben. "That won't do to sign it."

"Well, let's say from Ben and Polly then," said Polly; "only all the
others want to be in the letter."

"Well, they can't write," said Ben.

"We might sign