'As you please,' said he, 'only don't keep the horses standing too

long.' Then while she was dressing, he told Carrie to pack up a lunch, and he

told me to scramble into my walking clothes; and we slipped out the

back way and went fishing.

It discommoded the household dreadfully, because Lock Willow of a

Sunday dines at two. But he ordered dinner at seven--he orders meals

whenever he chooses; you would think the place were a restaurant--and

that kept Carrie and Amasai from going driving. But he said it was all

the better because it wasn't proper for them to go driving without a

chaperon; and anyway, he wanted the horses himself to take me driving.

Did you ever hear anything so funny?

And poor Mrs. Semple believes that people who go fishing on Sundays go

afterwards to a sizzling hot hell! She is awfully troubled to think

that she didn't train him better when he was small and helpless and she

had the chance. Besides--she wished to show him off in church.

Anyway, we had our fishing (he caught four little ones) and we cooked

them on a camp-fire for lunch. They kept falling off our spiked sticks

into the fire, so they tasted a little ashy, but we ate them. We got

home at four and went driving at five and had dinner at seven, and at

ten I was sent to bed and here I am, writing to you.

I am getting a little sleepy, though.

Good night.

Here is a picture of the one fish I caught.

Ship Ahoy, Cap'n Long-Legs!

Avast! Belay! Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum. Guess what I'm

reading? Our conversation these past two days has been nautical and

piratical. Isn't Treasure Island fun? Did you ever read it, or wasn't

it written when you were a boy? Stevenson only got thirty pounds for

the serial rights--I don't believe it pays to be a great author. Maybe

I'll be a school-teacher.

Excuse me for filling my letters so full of Stevenson; my mind is very

much engaged with him at present. He comprises Lock Willow's library.

I've been writing this letter for two weeks, and I think it's about

long enough. Never say, Daddy, that I don't give details. I wish you

were here, too; we'd all have such a jolly time together. I like my

different friends to know each other. I wanted to ask Mr. Pendleton if

he knew you in New York--I should think he might; you must move in

about the same exalted social circles, and you are both interested in

reforms and things--but I couldn't, for I don't know your real name.




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