gelli. i have braked The lamP. The oyl
maks A bad smel. i tHink i wil Bee sik iF i stay HeRe anny More.
i LoVe yoU--your Trying To Bee GooD

popy."

When she had finished, she lowered her note by a string, and bobbed it
up and down before the parlor window till Nelly saw and took it in.
Every one laughed over it; for, besides the bad spelling and the funny
periods, it was covered with oil-spots, blots, and tear marks; for Poppy
got tender-hearted toward the end, and cried a few very repentant tears
when she said, "I love you; your trying-to-be-good Poppy."

Mamma went up at once, and ordered no further punishment, but a thorough
scrubbing; which Poppy underwent very meekly, though Betsey put soap in
her eyes, pulled her hair, and scolded all the time. They were not
allowed any jelly for a long while; and Cy teased Poppy about her
hair-oil till the joke was quite worn out, and even cross Burney was
satisfied with the atonement.

When Poppy was eight, she got so very wild that no one could manage her
but mamma, and she was ill; so Poppy was sent away to grandpa's for a
visit. Now, grandpa was a very stately old gentleman, and every one
treated him with great respect; but Poppy wasn't at all afraid, and
asked all manner of impolite questions.

"Grandpa, why don't you have any hair on the top of your head?"--"O
grandpa! you _do_ snore _so_ loud when you take naps!"--"What makes you
turn out your feet so, when you walk?" and such things.

If grandpa hadn't been the best-natured old gentleman in the world, he
wouldn't have liked this: but he only laughed at Poppy, especially when
she spoke of his legs; for he was rather proud of them, and always wore
long black silk stockings, and told every one that the legs were so
handsome an artist put them in a picture of General Washington; which
was quite true, as any one may see when they look at the famous picture
in Boston.

Well, Poppy behaved herself respectably for a day or two; but the house
was rather dull, she missed Nelly, wanted to run in the street, and
longed to see mamma. She amused herself as well as she could with
picture-books, patchwork, and the old cat; but, not being a quiet,
proper, little Rosamond sort of a child, she got tired of hemming neat
pocket-handkerchiefs, and putting her needle carefully away when she had
done. She wanted to romp and shout, and slide down the banisters, and
riot about; so, when she couldn't be quiet another minute, sh