The Montgomery advertiser., 1901-12-11
A BUNCH OF LETTERS.
BY HATTIE WHITNEY. 1901, by Daily Story Pub. Col

,c,..,.r,.nt 1901. by Daily Story Pub. Col S
 s $ s & & s: & s <: g s: <: a: Ss , entertainment-me just as innocent as an amiable oyster, when all of sudden found Flo going demented with rage, ana G. V. and Zellie (my IelieD stroiiins s spoony and moony. That s when wanted to maui George. And oh, how my sweet z. snubbeo me, and acted nKe bad tempered spitfire of a kitten; f9r- tunately, she overdid the business lit tie, and 1t let in a glimmer light to my old brain. She wouldn't have been so spunky to me, just on G. N.'s account So when I found her weeping all by her ing ground, I sailed into the consolation business like a duck. She sald she was crying because a great wooily splder frightened her. and dlplomaucally arm around her to protect her from any more spiders. And I give you my word, I haven't had lucid interval since. And she had been jealous of Pen. Dusen- berry!
 As for G. v., the shoe may be on the other foot now, and he may at this min ute be laying for me, ready to do some mauling himself Poor old boy nope he won't be desperate enough to wind up his earthly career because I've got Zellie back. Of course it'S tough on him, but he ought to bear IT. and re- fleet that he can still be useful clti- zen and do some little good in the world, if he can't have the only girl any fellow could want.
 Yes. the camping's humming success.
 Tom.
 Glen Alder, August 2Oth.
 Dear Old Dick-Congratulate me, but don't ever ask me what l saw in her to admire, etc.; l don't know where the charm is, and I don't try to fathom It, me like faded out dimity beside some quaint, rich. oriental silk compared with this Penelope. the girl with the red halr and yellow specks in her gray & eyes to dress. I don't know how that may De. she had on a thin black dress today, null or calico or swiss-I don't know what hair look like twisted copper with gold in the curves, and her complexion tDe- tween the freckles) like the petal of rose. She has freckles. l always liked that were little tart but sweet and fla vored like the very breath Of an or chard in the fullness of blossom time.
 I was a bit afraid Tom was about to my anxiety was shared by Zellie. Wa ters; poor. dear little girl. She always reminds me of a nice. plump, sweet, in- sipid little seed cooky It was clearly chase after her for a while. and get old Tom jealous, if he really loved cookies as much as he had professed to do: And it brought him after us with scowl made him look as much like the Wild Man of the Woods as he could, with that cherubic countenance.
 Well, I was willing enough to play got Pen, and all the world is a big, sweet flower.
 Our fair Floretta doesn't seem to take much interest in our affatrs-Tom' and AaII lAr KatFf hi TT about them. she says her feet hurt her, and goes in the house. l used to think she was a mighty nice girl. until she seemed somehow to have gone into a bit of tartness, but I want heap of good wholesome sweetness along with 1t. Our outing is drawing towards a close I must go and take Pen for walk to Silver Spring, so this is the hnis Tor ''o"' Glen Alder, August 29th.
 Dear Jen--I couldn't hardly read your last letter, it was so scratchy; why don't you write little plainer? I shouldn't think you'd want your new dress fussed up so; it's be rather gay for a girl who is getting along to your years.
 aunt aren't in any particular hurry, and Tom and Zellie don't want to go, but I made such fuss they all had to agree: Those two make out and out fools of themselves about each other, since they have managed to find out their own minds. I can't stand 1t. You needn't write any more here, as we are going back so soon.
 As ever, Floretta. P. S-I may as well tell you, for you'll | hear it soon any way. GS V. and that Penelope Dusenberry are to be married | this fall. Recommend me to a red headed girl who looks as simple IS COW | for deep, underhand duplicity; especially if she's as plain and common looking as | cabbage.
 Of course it doesn't matter to me; l wouldn't have him, if he asked me. E OF PRISCILLA IVES" by Helen F. Sanders