s a book, and she
shall have it, but I can't write sequels to all the rest to please her.
I should never come to an end if I tried to suit these voracious little
Oliver Twists, clamouring for more. What next, Robin?'

'This is short and sweet.

'DEAR MRS BHAER, I am now going to give you my opinion of your works.
I have read them all many times, and call them first-rate. Please go
ahead.

'Your admirer,

'BILLY BABCOCK'

'Now that is what I like. Billy is a man of sense and a critic worth
having, since he had read my works many times before expressing his
opinion. He asks for no answer, so send my thanks and regards.'

'Here's a lady in England with seven girls, and she wishes to know your
views upon education. Also what careers they shall follow the oldest
being twelve. Don't wonder she's worried,' laughed Rob.

'I'll try to answer it. But as I have no girls, my opinion isn't worth
much and will probably shock her, as I shall tell her to let them run
and play and build up good, stout bodies before she talks about careers.
They will soon show what they want, if they are let alone, and not all
run in the same mould.'

'Here's a fellow who wants to know what sort of a girl he shall marry,
and if you know of any like those in your stories.'

'Give him Nan's address, and see what he'll get,' proposed Ted,
privately resolving to do it himself if possible.

'This is from a lady who wants you to adopt her child and lend her money
to study art abroad for a few years. Better take it, and try your hand
at a girl, mother.'

'No, thank you, I will keep to my own line of business. What is that
blotted one? It looks rather awful, to judge by the ink,' asked Mrs Jo,
who beguiled her daily task by trying to guess from the outside what
was inside her many letters. This proved to be a poem from an insane
admirer, to judge by its incoherent style.

'TO J.M.B.

'Oh, were I a heliotrope,
I would play poet,
And blow a breeze of fragrance
To you; and none should know it.

'Your form like the stately elm
When Phoebus gilds the morning ray;
Your cheeks like the ocean bed
That blooms a rose in May.

'Your words are wise and bright,
I bequeath them to you a legacy given;
And when your spirit takes its flight,
May it bloom aflower in heaven.

'My tongue in flattering language spoke,
And sweeter silence never broke
in busiest street or