"My dear little friends," wrote the Lady, "Dicky wishes me to tell you how much we enjoyed your delightful visit, and to say that Tiger Lily is a sweet dog. He thinks you are mistaken about Tiger Lily not hunting. Tiger Lily hunts very well he says,—'only different.' It's mice, he wants me to tell you, that Tiger Lily is very fierce about. And bugs of any sort. All in-door hunting in fact. Certainly our wood-boxes and our fire-places have been kept absolutely free of mice this entire season. And Cook says that not a June Bug has survived. Truly it's very gratifying. Also Dicky wants me to tell you that there's a field. It's got a brook in it where you can sail boats and everything. It's most a mile. This is all for this time Dicky says."With affectionate regards, I am, etc.——"
"My dear little friends," wrote the Lady, "Dicky wishes me to tell you how much we enjoyed your delightful visit, and to say that Tiger Lily is a sweet dog. He thinks you are mistaken about Tiger Lily not hunting. Tiger Lily hunts very well he says,—'only different.' It's mice, he wants me to tell you, that Tiger Lily is very fierce about. And bugs of any sort. All in-door hunting in fact. Certainly our wood-boxes and our fire-places have been kept absolutely free of mice this entire season. And Cook says that not a June Bug has survived. Truly it's very gratifying. Also Dicky wants me to tell you that there's a field. It's got a brook in it where you can sail boats and everything. It's most a mile. This is all for this time Dicky says.
"With affectionate regards, I am, etc.——"
Our Mother looked up across the top of the letter. It was at my Father that she looked.
"Poor dear Lady," she said. "I hope she's happier now. It's that Mrs. Harnon, you know. Her marriage was so unfortunate to that dreadful Harnon man."
"U—m—m," said my Father.
We read the letter over and over waiting for the next one and wondering about Tiger Lily.
There wasn't any next one till most Thanksgiving. When it came at last it was Dicky's letter just the same, but it was written in our Uncle Peter's handwriting this time. It seemed funny. But perhaps the Lady's hand was lame and she advertised for help.—Our Uncle Peter reads all the newspapers.
The letter was awful short. And there weren't any quirks in it or anything. Just ink. This is what it said:
"Mutts:Tiger Lily's got nine puppies. We're sleeping fine.
"Mutts:
Tiger Lily's got nine puppies. We're sleeping fine.
Dicky."
Dicky."
Our Mother looked at our Father. Our Father looked at our Mother. They both looked at the letter again.
"My brother Peter's handwriting just as sure as you're born!" said my Father.
"Of course it's Peter's writing," said our Mother. Her cheeks were quite pink. "Well of all the unexpected romances—" she said.
"Whose?" I said.
"Tiger Lily's," said my Father. He seemed to be in an awful hurry to say it.
I looked at my Mother. Her eyes were shining.
"Is a—Is a 'Romance' a something that you make a story out of?" I said.
"Yes it is," said my Mother.
I thought of my gold pencil.
"Oh, all right," I said, "when I get tall enough and more spelly I'll make a little story about it."
"You already have!" said my Mother.