"Yes; that's your writing, isn't it? And it looks like one of my envelopes!"
It was both. Harry stood gazing at his own superscription, and weighing the envelope with his eye. He was afraid to feel it. It looked too thin to contain his verses. It was too thin! Between finger and thumb it felt absolutely empty. He tore it open, and read on a printed slip the sweetest words his eyes had ever seen.
"The Editor of Uncle Tom's Magazine has great pleasure in accepting for publication——"
The title of the verses (a very bad one) was filled in below, the date below that, and that was all.
"Oh, mother, they've accepted my verses!"
"Who?"
"Uncle Tom's Magazine."
"Did you actually send some verses to Uncle Tom?"
"Yes, on Tuesday, the day after Uncle Spencer was here. I've done what I said I'd do. He'll see I'm not such an utter waster after all."
"And you—never—told—me!"