too."

Those first letters home!

Ford's was a matter of course, and Frank Harley had had some practice
already; but Dab Kinzer had never tried such a thing before, and Dick
Lee would not come to anybody else for instructions. Neither would he
permit anybody, not even "Captain Dab," to see his letter after it was
written.

"I's been mighty partikler 'bout de pronounciation," he said to himself,
"specially in wot I wrote to Mr. Morris, but I'd like to see dem all
read dem letters. Guess dar'll be a high time at our house."

It would be a long while before Frank Harley's epistle would reach the
eyes that were anxiously waiting for it, but there were indeed "high
times" in those three houses on the Long-Island shore.

Old Bill Lee was obliged to trust largely to the greater learning of his
wife, but he chuckled over every word he managed to pick out, as if he
had pulled in a twenty-pound bluefish; and the signature at the bottom
affected him somewhat as if he had captured a small whale.

"Sho! De boy!" said Glorianna. "He's doin' fust-rate. Dar ain't anoder
young gen'lman at dat ar' 'cad'my jes' like him. Onless it's young Mr.
Kinzer. I hasn't a word to say 'gin him or Mr. Foster, or dat ar' young
mish'nayry."

"Glorianna," said Bill doubtfully, "do you s'pose Dick did all dat
writin' his own self?"