“I wasn't jogglin',” said Joel; “the old thing tipped. Look!” he whispered to Davie, “see Polly, she's writing crooked.”
So while the others hung around her and looked over her shoulder while they made their various comments, Polly finished her part, and also held it up for inspection.
“Let us see,” said Ben, taking it up.
“It's after, 'boneset's good for colds,'” said Polly, puckering up her face again at the thought.
“We most of us knew you were sick—I'm Polly now—because you didn't come; and we liked your letter telling us so. Oh, Polly! we weren't glad to hear he was sick!” cried Ben, in horror.
“I didn't say so!” cried Polly, starting up. “Why, Ben Pepper, I never said so!” and she looked ready to cry.
“It sounds something like it, don't it, mammy?” said Ben, unwilling to give her pain, but appealing to Mrs. Pepper.
“Polly didn't mean it,” said her mother consolingly; “but if I were you, I'd say something to explain it.”
“I can't put anything in now,” said poor Polly; “there isn't any room nor any more paper either—what shall I do! I told you, Ben, I couldn't write.” And Polly looked helplessly from one to the other for comfort.
“Yes, you can,” said Ben; “there, now I'll show you: write it fine, Polly—you write so big—little bits of letters, like these.”