“Now, gran’fa,” she said sharply, “I want you to write nicely, just what I’ve written there.”
“What for? what for?” he cried, taking up the note after adjusting his glasses.
“To help me, gran’fa. You said you would.”
“Yes, I said I would,” he grumbled. “I said I would.”
“And it won’t cost nothing, gran’fa; not even a stamp,” said the girl saucily.
“Hi—hi—hi! You’re a wicked one, Dally, that you are,” he chuckled, as he took the pen, and after a good many preliminaries, settled himself down to write.
“Do the envelope first, gran’fa,” whispered the girl excitedly.
“The envelope first, my pet. Ay, ay, ay.”
He bent over the table, and then, very slowly and laboriously, copied the address in a singularly good hand for one so old.
“That’s right,” cried Dally, who was in a fever of impatience, but dared not show it. “Now the letter, gran’fa.”