I am eleven years old. My uncle gave me your paper for my birthday
present, and I think it was a nice present. I have always read the
letters in Our Post-office Box, and I thought I would write one
too. I notice that all the little girls tell about their pets. I
have a little turtle for my pet. It likes to eat flies; it will
take them in its mouth, and eat them fast. My turtle is very small.
Mamma said that I must take it back to the river, because it might
die. Our schools are all out now, and I passed for the C. Grammar.
We have a great many canaries, and I have a beautiful Java finch:
it has a bright red bill, and it says tat, tat, all the day long.
Good-by.