" And Grandma, looking down,
saw a little wad in his hand.
"Now I do believe that's from the blessed little creeter," she exclaimed,
very much excited; "that must be Phronsie's."
"Yes, it is," said Peletiah.
"Why didn't you tell me that before?" cried Grandma. "You should 'a' read
it first of all." She leaned forward in her chair, unable to lose a word.
"You didn't tell me to," said Peletiah, in a matter-of-fact way.
"Well, read it now," said Grandma, quavering with excitement.
"There ain't nothin' to read," said Peletiah, unfolding the paper, many
times creased.
"Hey?"
"There ain't nothin' to read," repeated Peletiah; "you can see for
yourself." He held it up before her. There were many pencil marks going
this way and that, by which Phronsie felt perfectly sure that her friends
would understand what she was telling them. And once in a while came the
great achievement of a big capital letter laboriously printed. But for
these occasional slips into intelligible language, the letter presented a
medium of communication peculiar to itself.
"Ain't it sweet!" said Grandma admiringly, when she had looked it all over.
"The little precious creeter, to think of her writin' that, and all by
herself too!"
"You can read it as well upside down," observed Peletiah.
"I know it." Grandma beamed at him.
"Just think of that child a-writin' that! Who'd ever b'lieve it?"
"I must go now," announced Peletiah, getting out of his chair and beginning
to stretch slowly.
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