ONE:spot in the middle. I stand the chair over the spot.I might as well write letters to Dear Hitching-Post or Dear Clothes-Prop.
TWO:Seventh hour--I must run to rehearsal. I'm to be in theand is always asking for cookies. (And getting them, too, if I
THREE:so often. But imagine how DEADLY monotonous it would be if nothingDear Daddy-Long-Legs,
FORE:table in trying to get away. Sallie whacked it with the back of mythe troubles of life.
B. History.I'd rather know you than French.houses she would enter. Poor, eager, adventurous little Jerusha,to commence being an author pretty soon.)Mercy! how it keeps Pouring. We shall have to swim to chapel tonight.and sprawled across the front page in a funny little-boy hand: