bo

J. COLE.

The epistle was enclosed in a clumsy enve-
lope, evidently home-made, with the aid of
scissors and gum, and was written on a half-
sheet of letter-paper, in a large hand, with
many blots and smears, on pencilled lines.

There was something quaint and straight
forward in the letter, in spite of the utter
ignorance of grammar and spelling; and while
I smiled at the evident pride in the “brutther”
who was a “verry good hite,’’ and the offer
to take less wages if “I would do his washin,”
I found myself wondering what sort of waif
upon the sea of life was this not very tall
person, over thirteen, who “would serve me
well.”

I had many letters to answer and several
appointments to make, and had scarcely made
up my mind whether or not to trouble to
write to my accomplished correspondent, who
was “sharp, and could rede and rite, and hadd
figgers,” when, a shadow falling on the ground
by me as I sat by the open window, I looked
up, and saw, standing opposite my chair, a
boy, —the very smallest boy, with the very
largest blue eyes I ever saw. The clothes on