"'You a-p-p-e-a-r-e-d—'" Mark stuck fast on the word that had floored Matthew, and helplessly shook his head.
"What is it?" demanded his mother. Since she really had a letter, she was going to have every word of it.
So Mark began again, but it was no use. Flounder and guess as he might, it was impossible to say what that dreadful assortment of letters might mean.
"Oh, well, if you can't read it, Mark," said Mrs. Hansell, coolly, "I must get some one who can."
"Let me try, Mammy, let me," begged Matilda, with two eager little hands thrust out.
"I can read the next words," declared Mark, hanging on to the letter like grim death.
"No, the next ones won't do. I must have the whole of the letter," said Mrs. Hansell, with great dignity. "Yes, you can try now, Matilda," and she picked the sheet from Mark's hand, to be hungrily seized by Matilda.
"She can't read any better'n a pig," said Mark in great scorn. "Now, what is it, Matilda Hansell?"
Matilda turned her shoulders on him, and spelled backward and forward, up and down, with the greatest vigor, but all to no purpose. Her face was red as fire, and she had all she could do to keep from crying, but still she struggled on.
"No, that won't do. You can't read it either," said Mrs. Hansell at length, in the midst of Mark's "What did I tell you, Mammy? Ho! Ho!"