Mt. Pleasant, Pa.
Dear Muz:
The livin's no better, it's flitch every meal; they haven't had pie or cake since we came. Palmer says when they get the thing going we'll live on the fat on the land. His wife don't say nothin', just sews and cooks and wears a sun-bonnet. They've got two children somewhere. I heard Palmer say they'd have to stay, that they'd be too much trouble on the road. This seemed to make Mrs. Palmer more quiet, I reckon you'd call it sad. She ought to say somethin', then a body would know what ails her. I don't think it's newralgy. I told her mustard plasters always helped Aunt Susan and she just looked at me.
I hope he gets her goin' soon, I'm hungry. If this show is good, as he says she is, he ought to make enough to buy something to eat besides flitch, corn meal and potatoes. He's got two more scenes to paint, then we're ready to show her up.
Tom tried to help Mrs. Palmer wash the dishes, he broke two plates. Palmer says he's all thumbs and mouth.
Your affectionate son,
Alfred Griffith Hatfield.
P. S. Was the gun gone? The pup's a hound but it's bound to be pretty, the children will like it. You keep it till I get home.