"I s'pose I'll have to wait until she comes to hear my letter."
"You can't read it for yourself, then."
"Not just all," breaking open the envelope and unfolding the letter. "I know the beginning: 'My dearest Jack,' and the end"—swiftly turning over the sheet he held and tracing the words with his finger—"'Loving father, Jack,' but I can't read the middles yet. I s'pose you can read letters as easily as Aunt Betty."
"I expect I can."
"Then you could read this to me, and I needn't wait."
"Will Aunt Betty mind, do you think?"
"Why should she? There's no secrets in it."
So Tom sat down on one of the wooden benches, and Jack sat beside him, and the letter was read aloud.
"Once more, please," said Jack, when it came to the finish, "and then I shall know all it says." So once again Tom read the letter very distinctly.
"I don't think it's wrong to read father's letter in church. He seems such a very good kind of man," said Tom, as he handed the letter back to Jack's keeping.