P. S. I forgot to put this letter in the office. I guess I will not
write any more letters till I go home. I was going to tell more, but I
can do it better talking. I went to see Tom Cush the next day, and he
had gone. Rosy’s got her lamb back again. But her flower-garden was
killed by the hail. Not one leaf left. She found her lamb on the
doorstep, waiting to get in.
* * * * *
We have next a letter from Aunt Phebe, a dear, good-hearted woman, who
took almost a mother’s interest in William Henry. Indeed, I have heard
her remark, that she hardly knew any difference between her feelings for
him and for her own children.
Some of her letters will be found to contain good advice, given in a
very amusing way.
* * * * *
_Letter from Aunt Phebe._