“I never feel like writing, after a hearty meal,—so I have brought you a light dinner,” said Marcus, setting the tray upon the table.
“What time shall you start?” inquired Oscar.
“In about an hour,” was the reply.
“I have got one letter about done,” said Oscar, “and I can finish another before you go. Don’t you suppose I could finish the other two after we get back?”
“I am afraid not,” replied Marcus. “You will have but little time, then, and besides, you wont feel like writing. I think you had better finish your letters before you do anything else. Perhaps you can get them done in season to mail them to-day.”
Marcus now withdrew, and in the course of an hour drove off upon his errand. When he returned, he found the family at tea, and Oscar with them.
“Well, Oscar, have you written all your letters?” inquired Marcus.
“Yes, sir, and carried them to the post office, too,” replied Oscar.
“Ah, you have been pretty smart—that is, if you didn’t make them too short,” observed Marcus.
“They are about as long as my letters generally are,” replied Oscar