“Oh! ma’am,” exclaimed Mrs Frog, brightening up suddenly, “we’ve had such a nice letter from our Bobby. Let her see it, Hetty.”
“Yes, and so nicely written, too,” remarked Hetty, with a beaming face, as she handed Bobby’s production to the visitor, “though he doesn’t quite understand yet the need for capital letters.”
“Never mind, Hetty, so long as he sends you capital letters,” returned Mrs Twitter, perpetrating the first pun she had been guilty of since she was a baby; “and, truly, this is a charming letter, though short.”
“Yes, it’s rather short, but it might have been shorter,” said Mrs Frog, indulging in a truism.
Mrs Twitter was already late for the mothers’ meeting, but she felt at once that it would be better to be still later than to disappoint Mrs Frog of a little sympathy in a matter which touched her feelings so deeply. She sat down, therefore, and read the letter over, slowly, commenting on it as she went along in a pleasant sort of way, which impressed the anxious mother with, not quite the belief, but the sensation that Bobby was the most hopeful immigrant which Canada had received since it was discovered.
“Now, mind, send Ned up at once,” said the amiable lady when about to quit the little room.
“Yes, Mrs Twitter, I will; good-night.”