that dreadful things happen to her.  She pricks her with pins, and pretends she has the ear-ache, and lets her tumble down and hurt herself, till sometimes I nearly feel sorry, though it’s all make-believe.  When you wrote us about only having pudding for dinner, I didn’t a bit.  John put her into the rag-closet that very day, and has been starving her to death ever since, and Phil says it serves her right.  You can’t think how awfully lonely I sometimes get without you.  If it wasn’t for Helen Gibbs, that new girl I told you about, I shouldn’t know what to do.  She is the prettiest girl in Miss McCrane’s school.  Her hair curls just like mine, only it is four times as long and a million times as thick, and her waist is really and truly not much bigger round than a bed-post.  We’re the greatest friends.  She says she loves me just exactly as much as if I was her sister, but she never had any real sisters.  She was quite mad the other day because I said I couldn’t love her quite so well as you and Katy; and all recess-time she wouldn’t speak to me, but now we’ve made up.  Dorry is so awfully in love with her that I never can get him to come into the room when she is here, and he blushes when we tease him about her.  But this is a great secret.  Dorry and I play chess every evening.  He almost always beats unless papa comes behind and helps me.  Phil has learned too, because he always wants to do every thing that we do.  Dorry gives him a castle, and a bishop, and a knight, and four pawns, and then beats him in six moves.  Phil gets so mad that we can’t help laughing.  Last night he buttoned his king up inside his jacket, and said, ’There! you can’t checkmate me now, any way!’

“Cecy has come home.  She is a young lady now.  She does her hair up quite different, and wears long dresses.  This winter she is going to parties, and Mrs. Hall is going to have a party for her on Thursday, with real, grown-up young ladies and gentlemen at it.  Cecy has got some beautiful new dresses,—­a white muslin, a blue tarlatan, and a pink silk.  The pink silk is the prettiest, I think.  Cecy is real kind, and lets me see all her things.  She has got a lovely breast-pin too, and a new fan with ivory sticks, and all sorts of things.  I wish I was grown up.  It must be so nice.  I was to tell you something, only you mustn’t tell any body except Katy.  Don’t you remember how Cecy used to say that she never was going out to drive with young gentlemen, but was going to stay at home and read the Bible to poor people?  Well, she didn’t tell the truth, for she has been out three times already with Sylvester Slack in his buggy.  When I told her she oughtn’t to do so, because it was breaking a promise, she only laughed, and said I was a silly little girl.  Isn’t it queer?