assure you of two things: you won't have many eggs this
summer; and fat chickens will be a scarce article in this neighborhood
next Thanksgiving time. But Mrs. Yellowneck has just laid an egg, and
I must help her cackle over it; so I will write nothing more at
present, but sign myself

"Your faithful, but afflicted,

"SHANGHAE ROOSTER."

Before Jerry had finished reading this mysterious letter, Oscar, who
wondered at his long absence, went to see what the matter was, and
found his cousin deeply absorbed in the document. After Jerry had read
it, he handed it to Oscar, telling him where he found it.

"Well, that is queer," said Oscar, after he had read it. "Who do you
suppose wrote it?"

"I know where it came from well enough," said Jerry; "keep dark--don't
say anything about it," he added, as he put the letter in his pocket.
Then stepping to the kitchen-window, he inquired, "Mother, was Clinton
over here yesterday?"

"I believe he was," replied Mrs. Preston.

"That accounts for it," said Jerry to Oscar; "that letter sounds just
like Clinton. I knew he wrote it just as soon as I saw it."

"But can he write as well as that?" inquired Oscar.

"Yes, he 's a very good writer," replied Jerry. "He ought to be, for
he has to get a lesson every day, just as though he went to school, and
recite to his mother in the evening. I wish I knew as much as he does,
but I should n't want to study so hard."

They had now started on their way to Clinton's. The Shanghae letter
continued to be the topic of remark for some time. It was finally
concluded that they should say nothing to Clinton about it. To tell
the truth, Jerry felt a little mortified at the deserved rebuke he had
received, and he thought the easiest way to get over it would be, to
pretend that the letter had never reached its destination.

Clinton Davenport, the suspected author of this letter, lived in the
nearest house to Mr. Preston's. The house is marked 1, on the map of
Brookdale. He was three or four months younger than Jerry, and, like
him, was an only son. They had been intimate playmates from early
childhood, though their tastes and dispositions were very different.
Clinton was an industrious boy. He liked to work, and took an interest
in all his father's plans and labors. He was an ingenious boy, too;
and, in addition to his other commendable traits, he was a good scholar.

Oscar had seen Clinton once or twice, at Jerry's house, but this