Your Constant Reader, Bessie C.
Washington, D. C.
Dear St. Nicholas: We have neither of us ever written to you before, but now we want to tell you something. We were seated at our desks in school, when the door opened and the principal entered, followed by four great Indians. None but the interpreter could speak English. They were dressed in citizens' clothes, so were not so interesting as they might have been. The next day several of us sent our albums to them, and the interpreter wrote the names of each, and then he whose name was signed, made his own cross underneath. Three of their names are:
"Young Prophet."
"Stiff Wing."
"Young Bear."
Your devoted readers, Ed. and Kittie.
Philadelphia.
Dear St. Nicholas: My age is twelve years, and I am so fond of my mother; so I must tell you how much we are all pleased with "Little Lord Fauntleroy" and his "Dearest" mother.
My father is an Englishman, but we live in this country; we all love the Queen, and we have a very high regard for the President and this Government.