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she had a sick headache. At last we began to laugh at so much misery, and that put us in a good humor right away. Now, whenever we are in a bad humor, we have a growling-party, for this is all a true story.
HELEN D. F. .
Please read Aunt Edna's letter, children. You will find it worth thinking about, and we slip it in like a sandwich between your own letters, instead of printing it in the column with the treasurer's report about the Cot, because we want you to pay attention to what this kind lady has to say.
Hoping all will do their best; I must say good-by, with love from
OUR KNOWING JEFF.
My father has a dog named Jeff. Harry, our little brother, will say, "Come, Jeff, take a ride." Jeff will jump into the wagon, Harry will pin a shawl around him, and he will sit and ride until Harry tires of drawing him. It is a comical sight to see those two going about the garden, Jeff sitting straight up with a shawl on, looking so patient.
Not long since Jeff had a sore foot. The first we knew of it he would keep coming in to us and holding one foot up. Sister got a pail of quite hot water, and put his foot in. He looked thankful for having it done. After soaking it long enough, we put some liniment on it, and bandaged it up. Thinking he was all right, we went up to our rooms; but as soon as Jeff found we had gone, he began to cry and whine dreadfully, so we came down and made him a new bed, and covered him. After leaving him, we heard no more from him that night.
For a week or more it was a comical sight to see him limp about the house on three legs, but out-of-doors he would run on all fours well enough. The very instant he entered the door, up would go one foot, not always the same that had been sore--he seemed to forget which one had been. We would say, "Jeff, that is not your lame foot." He would look ashamed, and walk off, only to return and look up at us; he would whine until spoken kindly to. Sometimes we would shake his paw, when he would walk away perfectly satisfied.
ONE OF JEFF'S FRIENDS.
CUSTER CITY, PENNSYLVANIA.
Glad to see my other letter in a book--the print not so big as mine, though. I sent it to Uncle Joe 'way off in California. He wrote me a poetry postal when I was a little fellow only a month old. That was ever so long 'go, but I have it yet; and some gold sand and lumps and stones that came to me from him.
I got a valentine of two gooses; one has a eye-glass on.
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