I am eleven years old. I live in the Genesee Valley, which I have heard is the nicest valley in the world. We have not many pets, because there are seven of us children, and mamma thinks those are pets enough for one house.
We have a black dog named Shot, but he is real old. We raised him from a puppy. Once he was in a soap box, with three other puppies, and mamma heard an awful squealing. There was a knot-hole in the box, and the puppy's tail stuck out. My little brother Jim crept up and grabbed hold of it, and was trying to pull the poor puppy through the knot-hole.
We had a yellow cat named Moses. He would let us dress him and put him to bed like a baby, and when my little sister sat down on the floor, he would come and put his paws around her neck. He died last spring, and we had a funeral. My brother Manta made a head-stone for him, and painted it white, and put poor Moses's name and age on it.
Laura M.
Winona, Minnesota.
I have just returned home from Maiden Rock, a little town in Wisconsin. It is a funny name for a town, and I will tell you why it is called so. There was once an Indian maiden who wanted to marry a young brave, but the other Indians were not willing. One day she went to the top of a high rock, as high as the bluffs on the shore of Lake Pepin. The Indians called to her to come down, and they would give her permission to marry her lover; but she knew very well that if she went down they would kill her, so she jumped from the rock and killed herself. I am eleven years old.
Bella M.
Salem, North Carolina.