“I dunno how to spell all the words that come in my head.”
“I’ll help you, dear.”
Seeing no escape, William sat gloomily down at the table and was supplied with pen, ink, and paper. He looked round disapprovingly.
“S’pose I wear out the nib?” he said sadly. Mrs. Brown obligingly placed a box of nibs at his elbow. He sighed wearily. Life sometimes is hardly worth living.
After much patient thought he got as far as “Dear Godmother.” He occupied the next ten minutes in seeing how far you could bend apart the two halves of a nib without breaking them. After breaking six, he wearied of the occupation and returned to his letter. With deeply-furrowed brow and protruding tongue he continued his efforts. “Many happy returns of your birthday. I hopp you are verry well. I am very well and so is mother and father and Ethel and Robbert.” He gazed out of the window and chewed the end of his penholder into splinters. Some he swallowed, then choked, and had to retire for a drink of water. Then he demanded a fresh pen. After about fifteen minutes he returned to his epistolary efforts.
“It is not raning to-day,” he wrote, after much thought. Then, “It did not rane yesterday and we are hoppin’ it will not rane to-morrow.”
Having exhausted that topic he scratched his head in despair, wrinkled up his brows, and chewed his penholder again.
“I have a hole in my stokking,” was his next effort. Then, “I have had my phottograf took and send it for a birthday present. Some peeple think it funny but to me it seems alrite. I hopp you will like it. Your loving godsun, William.”
Mrs. Adolphus Crane was touched, both by letter and photograph.
“I must have been wrong,” she said with penitence. “He looks so good. And there’s something rather sad about his face.”