A Note from Dorry.
Dear William Henry’s Grandmother,—
William Henry wants I should tell you not to be scared when you see another boy’s handwriting on the back of this letter, and not to think he’s got cold, or got anything else, like measles, or anything of that kind, and not to feel worried about his not writing for so long, for he is all right except the first joint of his forefinger. He crooked that joint, or else uncrooked it, playing base ball. ’T was a heavy ball and he took it whole on that joint, and ’t is so stiff he can’t handle a penholder. He thinks you will all wonder why he doesn’t write, and worry about his getting sick or something, but he never felt better. Appetite very good. He has received his cousin Matilda’s letter, and will answer it when he can. He wants to know what she’d think if she had to write poetry for composition. Our teacher told us we must each write one verse about June. I put three of them in for you to see, but don’t put our names.
“O I love the verdant June,
When the birds are all in tune,
When the rowers go out to row,
When the mowers go out to mow,
O, sweetly smells the fragrant hay,
As we ride on the load and stow it away.”
“In June we can sail
In the gentle gale,
On the waters blue,
And catch cod-fish
That make a good dish,
And mackerel too.”
“In June the summer skies are clear,
And soon green apples do appear.
And though they’re hard and sour, we know
That every day they’ll better grow.
This teaches us that boys, also,
Every day should better grow.”
P. S. He wants I should tell you ’t is tied up in a rag all right and don’t hinder his studying. Says he wishes his cousin Lucy Maria would write him one of her kind of letters, that she knows how to write, and tell what they are all doing and what they talk about, and when his finger is well he will answer all the letters they will write to him.
Very respectfully,
Billy’s Friend, Dorry.