Yesterday I went to Aunt Phebe’s to eat supper, and had on my light blue
boots Uncle Jacob brought me when he went away. He dragged me over
because ’t was snowing, for he said the party couldn’t be put off
because they had got all ready. But the party wasn’t anybody but me, but
he’s all the time funning. Aunt Phebe’s little Tommy he had some new
rubber boots, but they didn’t get there till after supper, and then ’t
was ’most his bedtime. But he got into the boots and walked all round
with them after his nightgown was on, and the nightgown hung down all
over the rubber boots. And when they wanted to put him in his crib he
didn’t want to take them off, so Uncle Jacob said better let the boots
stay on till he got asleep, and then pull ’em off softly as she could.
Then they put him in the crib and let the boots stick out one side,
without any bed-clothes being put over them. But we guessed he dreamed
about his boots, because soon as they pulled ’em a little bit, he
reached down to the boots and held on. But when he got sound asleep then
she pulled ’em off softly and stood ’em up in the corner. I carried my
work with me, and ’t was the handkerchief that is going to be put in
this letter. Aunt Phebe thinks some of the stitches are quite nice. She
says you must excuse that one in the corner, not where your name is, but
next one to it. The snow-storm was so bad I stayed all night, and they
made some corn-balls, and Uncle Jacob passed them round to me first,
because I was the party, in the best waiter.
And we had a good time seeing some little pigs that the old pig stepped
on,--six little pigs, about as big as puppies, that had little tails,
and she wouldn’t take a mite of care of them. She won’t let them get
close up to her to keep warm, and keeps a stepping on ’em all the time,
and broke one’s leg. She’s a horrid old pig, and Uncle Jacob was afraid
they might freeze to death in the night, and Aunt Phebe found a basket,
a quite large basket, and put some cotton-wool in it. Then put in the
pigs. When ’t was bedtime some bricks were put on the stove, and then he
put the basket with the little pigs in it on top of the bricks, but put
ashes on the fire first, so they could keep warm all night. And in the
night they kept him awake, making little squealy noises, and he thought
the fire would get hot and roast them, and once one climbed up over and
tumbled down on to the floor and ’most killed himself so he died
afterwards. And he says he feels very sleepy to-day, watching with the
little pigs all night. For soon as ’t was daylight, and before too,
Tommy jumped out and cried to have his rubber boots took into bed with
him, and then the roosters crowed so loud in the hen-house close to his
bedroom window that he couldn’t take a nap. He told me to send to you in
my letter a question to talk about where you did about summer and
winter. Why do roosters crow in the morning?
Two of the little pigs were dead in the morning, beside that one that
killed itself dropping down, and now two more are dead. She is keeping
this last one in a warm place, for they don’t dare to let it go into the
pig-sty, for fear she would step on it or eat it up, for he says she’s
worse than a cannibal. But I don’t know what that is. He says they kill
men and eat them alive, but I guess he’s funning. She dips a sponge in
milk and lets that last little pig suck that sponge.
Grandmother wants to know if little Rosy has got any good warm mittens.
Wants to know if Mr. Sky Blue has. And you must count your handkerchiefs
every week, she says. Little Tommy went out with his rubber boots, and
waded way into such a deep snow-bank he couldn’t get himself out, and
when they lifted him up they lifted him right out of his rubber boots.
Then he cried. Tommy’s cut off a piece of his own hair.
Your affectionate sister,