Marjorie's Vacation. Wells Carolyn
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you don't know that there's a little post office in the lowest branch of that old maple-tree down by the brook?"
"You mean just where the path turns to go to the garden?"
"That's the very spot. Only this morning I was walking by there, and I saw a small post office in the tree. There was a key in the door of it, and being curious, I opened it, and looked in. There I saw five letters for you, and as you're not walking much this summer, I thought I'd bring them to you. I brought the key, too."
As he finished speaking, Uncle Steve drew from his pocket a little bright key hung on a blue ribbon, which he gravely presented to Marjorie. Her eyes danced as she took it, for she now believed there was really a post office there, though it was sometimes difficult to distinguish Uncle Steve's nonsense from the truth.
"Now I'm more than ever anxious to get well," she cried, "and go out to see that post office."
"Oh, no," said Uncle Steve, shaking his head; "you don't care about post offices and walks in the woods, and drives through the country. You'd rather slide down an old barn roof, and then lie in bed for a week."
"Catch me doing it again," said Marjorie, shaking her head decidedly; "and now, Uncle, suppose we open these letters."
"Why, that wouldn't be a bad idea. Here's a paper-cutter. Let's open one at a time, they'll last longer. Suppose you read this one first."
Marjorie opened the first letter, and quickly turned the page to see the signature.
"Why, Uncle Steve," she cried, "this is signed Ned and Dick! I didn't know horses could write letters."
"There are a great many things, my child, that you don't know yet. And so Ned and Dick have written to you! Now that's very kind of them. Read me what they say."
In great glee, Marjorie read aloud:
It is too bad
For you to act this way;
Just think what fun we might have had
Out driving every day.
"We could have gone to Blossom Banks,
Or Maple Grove instead;
But no, you had to cut up pranks
That landed you in bed!
"We hope you'll soon be well again,
And get downstairs right quick;
And we will all go driving then.
Your true friends,
NED AND DICK."
"Well, I do declare," said Uncle Steve, "I always said they were intelligent horses, but this is the first time I've ever heard of their writing a letter. They must be very fond of you, Marjorie."
Marjorie's eyes twinkled. She well knew Uncle Steve had written the letter himself, but she was always ready to carry out her part of a joke, so she replied:
"Yes, I think they must be fond of me, and I think I know somebody else who is, too. But it was nice of Ned and Dick to write and let me know that they hadn't forgotten me. And as soon as I can get downstairs, I shall be delighted to go driving with them. Where is Blossom Banks, Uncle?"
"Oh, it's a lovely place, a sort of picnic ground; there are several grassy banks, and blossoms grow all over them. They slope right down to the river; but, of course, you wouldn't think them nearly so nice as a sloping barn roof."
Marjorie knew she must stand teasing from Uncle Steve, but his smile was so good-natured, and he was such a dear old uncle anyway, that she didn't mind it very much.
"Suppose I read another letter," she said, quite ready to turn the subject.
"Do; open that one with the typewritten address. I wonder who could have written that! Perhaps the cow; she's very agile on the typewriter."
The mental picture of the cow using the typewriter produced such hilarity that it was a few moments before the letter was opened.
"It IS from the cow!" exclaimed Marjorie, "and she does write beautifully on the machine. I don't see a single error."
"Read it out, Midge; I always love to hear letters from cows."
So Marjorie read the cow's note:
"Mopsy Midge, come out to play;
I've waited for you all the day.
In the Garden and by the brook,
All day for you I vainly look.
With anxious brow and gaze intense
I lean against the old rail fence,
And moo and moo, and moo, and moo,
In hopes I may be heard by you.
And if I were not so forlorn,
I think I'd try to blow my horn.
Oh, come back, Midget, come back now,
And cheer your lonely, waiting
Cow."
"Now, that's a first-class letter," declared Uncle Steve. "I always thought that cow was a poet. She looks so romantic when she gazes out over the bars. You ought to be pleased, Marjorie, that you have such loving friends at Haslemere."
"Pleased! I'm tickled to death! I never had letters that I liked so well. And just think, I have three left yet that I haven't opened. I wonder who they can be from."
"When you wonder a thing like that, it always seems to me a good idea to open them and find out."
"I just do believe I will! Why, this one," and Marjorie hastily tore open another letter, "this one, Uncle, is from old Bet!"
"Betsy! That old horse! Well, she must have put on her spectacles to see to write it. But I suppose when she saw Ned and Dick writing, she didn't want them to get ahead of her, so she went to work too. Well, do read it, I'm surely interested to hear old Betsy's letter."
"Listen then," said Marjorie:
"DEAR LITTLE MIDGE:
I'm lonesome here,
Without your merry smiles to cheer.
I mope around the livelong day,
And scarcely care to munch my hay.
I am so doleful and so sad,
I really do feel awful bad!
Oh hurry, Midge, and come back soon;
Perhaps to-morrow afternoon.
And then my woe I will forget,
And smile again.
Your lonesome BET"
"Well, she is an affectionate old thing," said Uncle Steve; "and truly, Midget, I thought she was feeling lonesome this morning. She didn't seem to care to eat anything, and she never smiled at me at all."
"She's a good old horse, Uncle, but I don't like her as much as I do Ned and Dick. But don't ever tell Betsy this, for I wouldn't hurt her feelings for anything."
"Oh, yes, just because Ned and Dick are spirited, fast horses you like them better than poor, old Betsy, who used to haul you around when you were a baby."
"Oh, I like her well enough; and, anyway, I think a heap more of her now, since she wrote me such an affectionate letter. Now, Uncle, if you'll believe it, this next one is from the chickens! Would you have believed that little bits of yellow chickens, in an incubator, could write a nice, clear letter like this? I do think it's wonderful! Just listen to it:
"DEAR MOPSY:
Why
Are you away?
We weep and cry
All through the day.
"Oh, come back quick,
Dear Mopsy Mop!
Then each small chick
Will