46 Tom Seven Years Old.

 

 

changed my mind again in this also, and |
wanted you to hear. I dow’¢ think you a
dreadfully horrid boy at all, ever since |
began to rub. And I'll tell papa so the next
time I see him. And I'll not put it in my
journal. And I like you very much !”

“JT like you,’ said Bob. “I liked you
pushing the table up to the press, and stand-
ing on it. And you've rubbed beautifully. I
wish Uncle Charlie could see it while it is
clean. It couldn’t be better. Thank you,
Tom,”

“Don't thank me,” said Tom. “I did it
for a very particular reason, which you will
never find out. I wish I could tell papa,
though.”

“He's gone away,” said Bob. “I heard
him say he had to go a long way off, and
wouldn’t be back till ten o’clock this evening.
Ten or half-past ten, he said.”

“Oh dear me!” cried Tom; “and I wanted
to tell him something !”

“Write a letter,” said Bob; “ that’s the way
I do when I’ve anything important to say.