66 Tom Seven Years Old.

 

“No,” answered his papa; “I am afraid
not.”

Tom went upstairs very much disappointed.
“Tam sure,” he thought, “if she only knew
how dreadfully I wanted to see her, and that
I was really going home on Saturday, she
would ask me to visit her in her palace at
once.”

Then it suddenly struck him that he might
write to her, and tell her all, and perhaps she
would herself send for him; and then even his
papa said it would be no harm to go.

He ran into the schoolroom, where there
were paper and pens and ink. Annie was
helping little May with her lesson at the other
end of the table.

“Tam going to write a letter,” said Tom.
‘“T won't make any noise.”

He kept his word, writing quite quietly.
The pen went smoothly over the paper, and
the ink did not once run into a round blot.
When it was finished, Tom felt quite proud of
it, it looked so nice and neat—perfectly fit to
send to any queen in any palace. He did not