P. S. I want to tell that when I was at Dorry’s I let a little vase fall
down and break. I didn’t think it was so rotten. I felt sorry; but
didn’t say so; I didn’t know how to say it very well. I wish grown-up
folks would know that boys feel sorry very often when they don’t say
so, and sometimes they think about doing right, too. And mean to, but
don’t tell of it. Next time I shall tell about Bubby Short and me going
to ride in Gapper’s donkey-cart. He’s going to lend it to us. I should
like to buy them a new vase.