Vicksburg, Michigan.
I am nine years old. I take Young People, and think it the nicest little paper I ever saw. Little Netta Franklin, the little girl whose letter you acknowledged in Young People No. 17, and said it was so neatly printed, was my little sister. She died several weeks ago, and I miss her very much. I am alone now, with neither sister nor brother. She thought so much of Young People! She had mamma read a story to her out of it the night before she died.
Molly W. F.
Downieville, California.
I wrote a few weeks ago and told Young People of the pleasant weather we were having, although the snow was still on the ground. But the very next day it began to rain, and before night it was snowing. A few days afterward the snow was four feet deep in places where there was none before. The storm lasted two weeks, and my uncle, who has lived here for more than twenty-eight years, says he never knew anything like it before.
I feel very sorry for those Indians Bertie Brown wrote about, and I think he drew a very nice picture for a boy only nine years old.
I have a cat named Frolic. He is just one year younger than I am. He is full of tricks. One is this: when auntie is making cake, he always sits quietly at the end of the table and watches her. When supper-time comes he waits patiently till we are finished, then cries for his share. Just to tease him, uncle gives him a piece of bread, but Frol knows the difference between bread and cake, and he will not touch a mouthful of anything until he gets his cake. We had thirteen cats once, but some of them are dead, and now we have only seven.
Mary A. R.