“There, there 'tis,” said Ben: “'Dear Mister Jasper'—now what'll we say?”
“Why, say about the cakes,” replied Polly.
“And the 'gingerbread boy,” cried Phronsie. “Oh, tell about him, Polly, do.”
“Yes, yes, Phronsie,” said Polly, “we will—why, tell him how we wish he could have come, and that we baked him some cakes, and that we do so want him to come just as soon as he can.”
“All right!” said Ben; so he went to work laboriously; only his hard breathing showing what a hard task it was, as the stiff old pen scratched up and down the paper.
“There, that's done,” he cried at length in great satisfaction, holding it up for inspection.
“Oh, I do wish,” cried Polly in intense admiration, “I could write so nice and so fast as you can, Ben.”
“Read it, Polly,” said Mrs. Pepper, in pride.
So Polly began: “Dear Mister Jasper we were all dreadfully sorry that you didn't come and so we baked you some cakes.'—You didn't say anything about his being sick, Ben.”
“I forgot it,” said Ben, “but I put it in farther down—you'll see if you read on.”