“My dear Grandma,—I hope you are well. Uncle James sent me a pocket rifle. It is a beautiful little instrument of killing, shaped like this—[Here Tommy displayed a remarkable sketch of what looked like an intricate pump, or the inside of a small steam-engine]—44 are the sights; 6 is a false stock that fits in at A; 3 is the trigger, and 2 is the cock. It loads at the breech, and fires with great force and straightness. I am going out shooting squirrels soon. I shot several fine birds for the museum. They had speckled breasts, and Dan liked them very much. He stuffed them tip-top, and they sit on the tree quite natural, only one looks a little tipsy. We had a Frenchman working here the other day, and Asia called his name so funnily that I will tell you about it. His name was Germain: first she called him Jerry, but we laughed at her, and she changed it to Jeremiah; but ridicule was the result, so it became Mr. Germany; but ridicule having been again resumed, it became Garrymon, which it has remained ever since. I do not write often, I am so busy; but I think of you often, and sympathize with you, and sincerely hope you get on as well as can be expected without me.—Your affectionate grandson,
“Thomas Buckminster Bangs.
“P.S.—If you come across any postage-stamps, remember me.
“N.B.—Love to all, and a great deal to Aunt Almira. Does she make any nice plum-cakes now?
“P.S.—Mrs. Bhaer sends her respects.
“P.S.—And so would Mr. B. if he knew I was in act to write.
“N.B.—Father is going to give me a watch on my birthday. I am glad, as at present I have no means of telling time, and am often late at school.
“P.S.—I hope to see you soon. Don’t you wish to send for me?
“T. B. B.”
As each postscript was received with a fresh laugh from the boys, by the time he came to the sixth and last, Tommy was so exhausted that he was glad to sit down and wipe his ruddy face.