But here comes the mail-carrier, who cannot stop for such trifles. As he rapidly approaches Mrs. Sparrow flies away.
Kate, who has been setting out tulip-bulbs in her flower-beds in the back-yard, comes to look over the letters. This one, from a small boy, she reads aloud:
Deer Cozen Kate
an Walter i can’t find ennything but this led pencil to rite with fur they’re housecleening an the inks all spillt on the carpit an the pens lost an the paper lockt up in the riting desk an nobody can find the kee and Briget shes cross she sez ive got to stop running all over the flore whare she scrubd it and so i tore this page out of my gografy whare it isnt printid i most made a bote to sale on our pond fur its chuckfull ov water an somebody swept it up an thru it into the fire when I get to be a Man an have a house ov my own I wont have enny housecleening going on never.
Bob.
“Them’s my sentiments exactly,” says Harry. “It’s been just so at our house now for a week. Everything’s topsy-turvy, and you can’t find a place to rest the sole of your foot. And cross? my! I thought Ann would take my head off, this morning, when I tumbled against her mop-pail and tipped it over.”
“Will you please give these to Mr. Walter?”
It is bashful little Bessie, on her way home from a ramble in the distant wood, who whispers in Kate’s ear, as she offers a bunch of spring beauties gathered there, and blossoms plucked from a wayside apple-tree. Mr. Walter receives them with a smile of recognition, for who does not love the odor of apple-blossoms?
The blushing Bessie is straightway reassured and gratified by the following fable improvised for the occasion:
Once on a time, in early dawn of summer,