TOMMY’S LETTER
One day they were talking about it, all together.
“God is our Father, as the preacher said,” declared Mary. “I read it
to-day in the magazine, don’t you remember?”
“Yes,” agreed Tommy, “it must be He who sends the papers to us, for
nobody else knows about us. But He knows everything,--the preacher said
so.”
“I wish we could thank Him,” said little Polly. “He has been so good
not to forget us.”
“I am going to write to Him,” said Tommy suddenly; “there is a
Letter-Box in the paper, and boys and girls write to it every week. I
am going to write and tell the Lord how we thank Him.”
And forthwith Tommy sat down and wrote to the magazine a letter
something like those which he read every week in the Letter-Box,--yet
different. An island letter would have to be different. This is what
Tommy wrote:
LUCKY ISLAND, MAINE.
DEAR MAGAZINE,--You kum evry weak, an i dono ow we got long witout
You. The aint nobody in the Sity to tel You how to get to This
jumpin-of plais, so we no that Our Father must send You evry weak.
An we wanter Thanx him but we dono ow. Plees put this Leter in the
Leterbox sos he wil see. He dont kum here in Wintr its so lonsum I
gess he wood be glad if he knu ow hapy he made 6 litl chilren way
down in Maine. I hop he will send it evr an evr we havnt nothin els
to red.
Yours truly,
TOMMY PROUT.
The editor of the magazine did not often print a letter spelled as
badly as this one of poor Tommy Prout, who was eight years old, but
who only went to school in the spring and fall. But when the editor
read that letter he blew his nose and wiped his glasses and said:--
“Yes, I’ll print your letter just as it is, Tommy Prout, and I think it
will please Him whom you wish to thank, even if some one else mails the
paper for Him every week.”
So that is why, some days later, when Kenneth Thornton was carelessly
cutting the leaves of his new magazine, he suddenly gave a surprised
whistle. The name of his beloved summer island had caught his eye, at
the head of a letter in the Letter-Box.
“Oh, Mamma,” he cried, “see, here is a letter from our island. And it
is signed, ‘Tommy Prout.’ But I can’t make out the funny spelling.”
Then Kenneth’s mamma read the letter aloud, and it did not sound so
queer as it looked. When she had finished there were tears in her eyes
and in Rose’s, too. And Kenneth was winking queerly.
“The dear little fellow!” said Mamma. “Just think what it means to them
to have those papers that you don’t care for. O children, our Father
surely did put it into your heads to send the magazines; so Tommy is
right.”
“And we will send them ‘ever and ever,’ as Tommy hopes, won’t we,
Kenneth?” cried Rose eagerly.
“Course we will,” said Kenneth promptly.
“I’d like to write a letter to the little girl Prouts,” mused Rose. “It
must be awfully lonesome on the island in winter.”
“We must wait till next summer, Rose dear,” said her mamma. “We have
been bad neighbors to those little children, and we must get acquainted
with them first. The little Prouts do not know us, and it is our fault.
But another summer we will know them. And then we will plan what we can
do to make their winters less lonely. Poor babies!”
“I’d like to send them a Christmas box,” said Kenneth, who had been
thinking all this time. “I’ll send the boys a lot of books and candy
and things.”
“And I’ll send some to the girls,” cried Rose, clapping her hands. “Oh!
That will be fine,--and a doll for each one.”
“That is a good plan,” said Mrs. Thornton. “We will certainly do it.
How selfish we have been to care for our beautiful island only while
we were there, and to forget our neighbors who live there all the year
through! Just think, Kenneth and Rose, those children believe that our
Father doesn’t come there in winter. We must change that, and show them
that He is watching all His children all the time.”
Kenneth and Rose had a beautiful time making ready that Christmas box.
Into it they put all the things that they had first thought of, and
a great many beside. And they sent it so that it reached the island
on Christmas eve. Tim Parks brought it over to the Prouts the next
morning.
“I guess your friend who sends you the magazines has sent you something
fine for Christmas,” he grinned, as he carried the heavy box into the
room where the six little Prouts stood gaping with wonder. “‘The Misses
and the Masters Prout!’” he cried, reading the label.
Mary squeezed Tommy’s hand and whispered something as they all crowded
around while the box was being opened. And Tommy nodded wisely.
On the top of the box, inside, was a card which read: “Merry Christmas
to the little Prouts, from a brother and a sister who read Tommy’s
letter in the Letter-Box. The kind Father watches over us all alike,
on islands and in the big cities, and He bids us love one another,
especially on His birthday.”
A brother and a sister in the city! That news was almost more welcome
than the box itself. If Kenneth and Rose could have seen those six
little Prouts and have heard their squeals of joy when the box was
unpacked, they would have been glad indeed that they had remembered to
be brotherly and sisterly.
The magazines which kept coming “ever and ever” and the books that were
in that Christmas box were the beginning of the Island Public Library,
of which every one is now so proud, and of many other good things which
happened to the island and especially to the little Prouts.
For in summers after that they grew to know and to love their
neighbors, the city children. Kenneth and Rose have been a good brother
and sister to the little Prouts ever since; and it is as good a fortune
for Kenneth and Rose as it is for the little Prouts.
The Riverside Press
_Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.