Oscar; Or, The Boy Who Had His Own Way

by Walter Aimwell

Oscar felt quite relieved when his letter was ready for the post-office. Having locked up the little room, he carried the key to his aunt.

"Have you written your letter?" inquired Mrs. Preston.

"Yes, ma'am," replied Oscar.

"Where is it? You 're going to let me read it, aint you?" inquired Emily.

"There it is," said Oscar, taking the letter from his jacket pocket; "but I guess you won't read it, miss."

"Yes, do let me read it," persisted Emily, who really had an undue proportion of inquisitiveness in her nature.

"No, I can't; it's sealed up," replied Oscar.

"Then tell me what you wrote, won't you?" continued Emily.

"Why, you silly child, what business is it to you what he wrote?" said her mother. "Don't ask any more such foolish questions; Oscar will think you have n't got common sense if you do."

"Did you write anything about me?" continued Emily, in a lower tone.