an Walter i can’t find ennything but this led pencil to rite
with fur they’re housecleening an the inks all spillt on the
carpit an the pens lost an the paper lockt up in the riting
desk an nobody can find the kee and Briget shes cross she sez
ive got to stop running all over the flore whare she scrubd it
and so i tore this page out of my gografy whare it isnt printid
i most made a bote to sale on our pond fur its chuckfull ov
water an somebody swept it up an thru it into the fire when
I get to be a Man an have a house ov my own I wont have enny
housecleening going on never.