OUR KNOWING JEFF.
My father has a dog named Jeff. Harry, our little brother, will say, "Come, Jeff, take a ride." Jeff will jump into the wagon, Harry will pin a shawl around him, and he will sit and ride until Harry tires of drawing him. It is a comical sight to see those two going about the garden, Jeff sitting straight up with a shawl on, looking so patient.
Not long since Jeff had a sore foot. The first we knew of it he would keep coming in to us and holding one foot up. Sister got a pail of quite hot water, and put his foot in. He looked thankful for having it done. After soaking it long enough, we put some liniment on it, and bandaged it up. Thinking he was all right, we went up to our rooms; but as soon as Jeff found we had gone, he began to cry and whine dreadfully, so we came down and made him a new bed, and covered him. After leaving him, we heard no more from him that night.
For a week or more it was a comical sight to see him limp about the house on three legs, but out-of-doors he would run on all fours well enough. The very instant he entered the door, up would go one foot, not always the same that had been sore—he seemed to forget which one had been. We would say, "Jeff, that is not your lame foot." He would look ashamed, and walk off, only to return and look up at us; he would whine until spoken kindly to. Sometimes we would shake his paw, when he would walk away perfectly satisfied.
One of Jeff's Friends.
Custer City, Pennsylvania.
Glad to see my other letter in a book—the print not so big as mine, though. I sent it to Uncle Joe 'way off in California. He wrote me a poetry postal when I was a little fellow only a month old. That was ever so long 'go, but I have it yet; and some gold sand and lumps and stones that came to me from him.
I got a valentine of two gooses; one has a eye-glass on.
They torpedo oil wells here to break the oil loose from the stones. It flies more'n a hundred feet high, and sprinkles in the air, and looks like wet sunshine.
The girls and boys that send letters have dolls and cats to put in. Well, I have a dog, too, only it is brown cloth sewed 'round a lot of cotton. It looks 'zactly like a true dog, but its legs is so straight it can't run and bark.
Papa says you won't print two times 'bout me. Won't you 'bout Uncle Joe and the woollen dog anyway? It's nearly seven years old too, but I can read in the First Reader, and make letters like the ones here.
Joe A. V.
We think we would like your woolly dog much better, Joe, than we do a woolly one which belongs to a young lady we know, and keeps us awake at night by howling while his mistress is absent at a party or concert. Yours, we presume, is very well behaved.
Little friends who send us puzzles will please remember that they must always send the answers at the same time they inclose puzzles. Little folks who find our puzzles out must not omit their names, as we like to give them credit for their clever wits.