"Exactly," said the Quill, very much pleased that after all Jimmieboy had guessed it. "And now I'll write that letter to Uncle Periwinkle."
And so he wrote;
P. S.—Dear Uncle Periwinkle,
Come up on Saturday. Bring all the money you've got, and the soda-water we'll have will sail a yacht. If you can't come, send the money, and I'll look after sailing the yacht.
Yours affectionately,
Jimmieboy.
"Will that do?" asked the Quill.
"Yes," said Jimmieboy. "And now put it in an envelope, and I'll put it with the letters to be mailed."
"Now draw some more," he said, after this had been mailed.
But the Quill answered never a word. He had evidently fallen asleep. Strange to say, Uncle Periwinkle never got his letter, and the pictures the Quill made all faded from sight, and so were lost.