"I'd give anythin' to see him comin' in at that door, Peletiah," she said, "an' he may chase th' hens all he wants to when he comes back"; for Grandma always cherished the conviction that the "Five Little Peppers" were to make life merry again in their "little brown house," and she went on so long in this way that Peletiah, who had glanced up at the clock many times, said at last, in a stolid way, "There's another letter." And Grandma, looking down, saw a little wad in his hand.
"Now I do believe that's from the blessed little creeter," she exclaimed, very much excited; "that must be Phronsie's."
"Yes, it is," said Peletiah.
"Why didn't you tell me that before?" cried Grandma. "You should 'a' read it first of all." She leaned forward in her chair, unable to lose a word.
"You didn't tell me to," said Peletiah, in a matter-of-fact way.
"Well, read it now," said Grandma, quavering with excitement.
"There ain't nothin' to read," said Peletiah, unfolding the paper, many times creased.
"Hey?"
"There ain't nothin' to read," repeated Peletiah; "you can see for yourself." He held it up before her. There were many pencil marks going this way and that, by which Phronsie felt perfectly sure that her friends would understand what she was telling them. And once in a while came the great achievement of a big capital letter laboriously printed. But for these occasional slips into intelligible language, the letter presented a medium of communication peculiar to itself.
"Ain't it sweet!" said Grandma admiringly, when she had looked it all over. "The little precious creeter, to think of her writin' that, and all by herself too!"