wn in the
kitchen and teaze the cook; and she could never touch me with the
broomstick, because I ran full tilt; and she was very fat, you know,
always trod on her dress, and sometimes came down flat on her nose.

"Well, one day she said--'If you come in the kitchen again, I'll pin the
dishcloth fast to your jacket!' I _came right back_. 'PIN IT!' said I,
'that's all I want.' So she pinned it, and I stood very, _very_ still
till it was done. Then I made one jump in the air, and gave one
tremendous shout, and put _square_ up stairs for mother's room, the cook
after me; but I ran fastest, she was so fat. I got in the room first,
tore off the dishcloth--her best dishcloth--bran new, and threw it into
the very middle of the fire; and she had the pleasure of seeing the last
of her new dishcloth blazing up the chimney. So that's what a cook gets
when she pins her dishcloth on a boy."

The children clapped their hands, and screamed with laughter at this
story; and they laughed still harder, when Harry put on a comical,
half-provoked look, and added, "But you know mother made me take the
very money I was going to buy a new ball with, and buy a yard of crash
to make another dishcloth for the cook; that crashed _me_, so I don't
think I shall burn any more for the present."

And now the children, bidding each other "good night," went skipping and
dancing to bed, delighted with the evening's entertainment, wondering
who would have the next story from Aunt Fanny.

THE THIRD LETTER.

POOR RICH LITTLE EVA.

_For Anna._

DEAR ANNA:--I have lately been reading a book full of pure and beautiful
thoughts, called "Vernon Grove," and the other evening I became
acquainted with the authoress. She is a most lovely lady, dignified and
graceful; and I had a very delightful conversation with her about books.

In Vernon Grove there is a short story about a dear little girl, which
story interested me so much, that I asked permission of the authoress to
copy it out for you. Here it is, somewhat enlarged and altered, but the
main parts just as she wrote it. I know, dear Anna, it is exactly such a
tender, sweet story, as will most gratify your affectionate heart; so it
is yours, with a kiss from your loving

AUNT FANNY.

"POOR RICH LITTLE EVA.

"On a curtained bed, in a darkened chamber in the city of Charleston,
not many years ago, lay a beautiful lady, pale--almost dying; but,