for Ben was twelve years old; but with all her strivings and
scrimpings she could only manage to put bread into their mouths,
and live from day to day. "I know I ought to be thankful for that,"
she said to herself, not taking time even to cry over her troubles.
"But oh, the learning! they must have that!"

"Now," said Polly, "how'll we do it Ben?" as they ranged
themselves around the table, on which reposed the cakes; "you
begin."

"How do folks begin a letter?" asked Ben in despair, of his mother.

"How did Jasper begin his?" asked Mrs. Pepper back again. "Oh,"
cried Polly, running into the bedroom to get the precious missive.
"Dear Miss Polly'--that's what it says."

"Well," said Mrs. Pepper, "then you'd better say, 'Dear Mister
Jasper'--or you might say, 'Dear Mr. King.'"

"Oh, dear!" cried Polly, "that would be the father then-- s'pose he
should think we wrote to him!" and Polly looked horror-stricken to
the last degree.

"There, there 'tis," said Ben: 'Dear Mister Jasper'--now what'll we
say?"

"Why, say about the cakes," replied Polly.

"And the 'gingerbread boy," cried Phronsie. "Oh, tell about him,
Polly, do."