I have not written in a long time, because I wrote you two letters
once before, and did not see either of them in the Post-office Box,
and I thought I would wait a good while, and then perhaps you would
have room for me. I like all the little letters so much! Especially
I like to hear of all the pets each one has. It seems that I have
had bad luck with all my pets. I had a pretty pony (her name was
Daisy), and papa had me a nice saddle made to order in San
Francisco, and I was very fond of horseback riding; but one night
my dear Daisy was taken out of the field and stolen, and I never
expect to see her more. The next pet I had was a pretty
canary-bird, a present from my brother, with a new cage. I named
him Dicky. One morning I was cleaning the cage, and he flew away
just as I was putting the top on it. Oh, how badly I felt! But one
of my school-mates caught me a wild bird, and I had it in the cage
for some time; but it did not sing, and so I let it go.
I have no playmates near me, and I am often very lonesome. How I
should enjoy playing with the dear little girls who write to you! I
have one brother older than I am; he is away at school. It is
called the Boys' Home School, in San Mateo, twenty miles from San
Francisco. My brother is twelve years of age, and reads in the
Fifth Reader. I am nine, and read in the Fourth Reader. I am
piecing up a bed quilt for my bed, and hope to finish it before I
am ten years old, which will be in January. The name of it is
Lincoln's Platform.