Foot.—Thank ye, Johnny; you done that han’somely, that’s a fact. Neow, Jake, you jest run over to the bake-shop, and git as much gingerbread as this ’ere quarter will buy, and we’ll have a gineral treat all reound. [Hands him the money.]
[Exit Jake. Curtain falls.]
CHAPTER XIX.
CLOSE OF THE TERM.
“WHAT is the matter, Oscar? you look quite sober,” said Mrs. Page, one afternoon, as Oscar came into the kitchen, on his return from school, and began to take off his boots.
“I should like to know,” replied Oscar, “why I don’t get a letter from home. I’ve been to the post office every day for a fortnight, expecting one, and it hasn’t come yet.”
“Why, it doesn’t seem a great while since you had a letter from your mother; how long is it?” inquired his aunt.
“Let me see,” replied Oscar, reckoning the time in his head; “why, it was just six weeks last Saturday.”
“That isn’t a very long time to wait for a letter, for a boy of your age, who has been away from home as much as you have,” replied Mrs. Page.