Читать книгу The William Henry Letters - Diaz Abby Morton - Страница 4

Dear Sis, —

If mother's real clever, I want you to ask her something right away. But if it's baking-day, or washing-day, or company's coming off, or preserves going on, or anything's upset down below; or if she's got a headache or a dress-maker, or anything else that's bad, – then wait.

I want you to ask her if I may bring home a boy to spend Saturday. Not a very big boy, – do very well to "Philopene" with you: won't put her out a bit.

If you don't like him at first, you will afterwards. When he first came we used to plague him on account of his looks. He's got a furious head of hair, and freckles. But we don't think at all about his looks now. If anything, we like his looks.

He's just as pleasant and gen'rous, and not a mean thing about him. I don't believe he would tell a lie to save his life. I know he wouldn't. He's always willing to help everybody. And had just as lief give anything away as not. And when he plays, he plays fair. Some boys cheat to make their side beat. You don't catch William Henry at any such mean business. All the boys believe every word he says. Teachers too.

I will tell you how he made me ashamed of myself. Me and some other boys.

One day he had a box come from home. 'T was his birthday. It was full of good things. Says I to the boys, "Now, maybe, if we hadn't plagued him so, he would give us some of his goodies."

That very afternoon, when we had done playing, and ran up to brush the mud off our trousers, we found a table all spread out with a table-cloth that he had borrowed, and in the middle was a frosted cake with "W. H." on top done in red sugar. And close to that were some oranges, and a dish full of nuts, and as much as a pound of candy, and more figs than that, and four great cakes of maple-sugar, made on his father's land, as big as small johnny-cakes, and another kind of cake. And doughnuts.

"Come, boys," says he, "help yourselves."

But not a boy stirred.

I felt my face a-blushing like everything. O, we were all of us just as ashamed as we could be! We didn't dare go near the table. But he kept inviting us, and at last began to pass them round.

And I tell you the things were tip-top and more too. Such cake! And doughnuts, that his cousin made! And tarts! You must learn how. But I don't believe you ever could. Of course we had manners enough not to take as much as we wanted. I want to tell you some more things about him. But wait till I come. He's most as old as you are, and is always a laughing, the same as you are.

Ask mother what I told you. Take her at her cleverest, and don't eat up all the sweet apples.

From your brother,

Dorry.

P. S. Put some away in meal to mellow. Don't mellow 'em with your knuckles.

-

Mrs. Baker, I imagine, was not particularly fond of boys. She gave her permission, however, for Dorry to bring a "muddy-shoed" companion home with him, as we see by the following letter from William Henry to his grandmother.