"My dearest Miss Rose,—Will you oblige me by trying the accompanying? That blue bonnet you wore on Sunday was charming. Ever yours, C. Brown."
Meaning Brown minor. A packet of barley-sugar came with this, and Miss Rose began upon it greedily. Then she turned to the third.
"Ever dear Rose,—I take this favourable opertunity of writeing to you, Our desk got in a row this morning and I can't go out to buy that broche I told you of, If Stiggings buys it you fling it in his face, I send you a few rasons if you'll except of them, We are going to have a joly lark this week with Mother Butter, Your affectionate lover, Alfred Jones."
Mr. Alfred Jones was a gentleman of Miss Rose's own age, thirteen. She put as many raisins into her mouth as it would conveniently hold, and went on again.
"Beloved Miss Rose,—Would you wear the accompanied box for my sake, I mean its contents, which Jones minor (that wretched little muff in the fifth form, you know) said he should buy for you, the impudense of the youngster. I expect some jam to-morrow and shall send you a pot. Ever your devoted and respectful admirer, W. Stiggings. P.S.—I hope you have less bother now with those beastly lessons. Miss Brabazon's a tyrent."
The box contained a very smart brooch, for which W. Stiggins, who was a year older than Jones minor, had given ninepence. Miss Rose stuck it into her dress and figured off before the glass, eating alternately the raisins and the barley-sugar. Emma had not called her down, or come to see after her, so she thought she might write her acknowledgments, and got out a pencil and some delicate miniature note-paper, straw-coloured and notched round the edge.
"Dear Mr. Loftus,—Thank you for the scent-paper, it's very delicious, but not so nice as that almond-rock you sent me. I've no more time, for fear Emma should come up. Ever yours, Rose B. P.S.I saw you all riding that donkey on the common, why didn't you look up? I was with Jessie Gall and their governess."
This accomplished, she went on to the next, taking them in rotation.
"Dear Mr. Brown,—The barley-sugar's first-rate; I've eaten it nearly all. It's a love of a bonnet. I wanted Emma to let me have a blue mantle like it, and she went and bought a black! Ever yours, Rose B. P.S.—Please excuse the smuge; an old raisen out of my drawer got crushed on it."
And the next was to Jones minor.