Captain," declared one; and the postmaster laughingly took charge of it, and then forgot it until, at home that evening, he found it in his pocket.
"What is it?" asked his wife, presently, as he saw him silent and absorbed, and, looking over his shoulder, she read the little letter with him. Original in spelling and peculiar in chirography it certainly was, but they slowly deciphered it:
"I haven't any money to give 'cause I'm one of the little girls at the Home. Some of them have relations to send them things sometimes; but I haven't. I have two Bibles; but I wouldn't give this to any one but the heathen 'cause my own mamma gave it to me. It's nice to have a mamma to cuddle you up and love you just by your own self, and tuck you into bed at night, and not have to be in a row all the time. It makes a lump all swell up in my throat when I think of it, and my eyes get so hot and wet I can hardly see. I wish God did have homes enough, so He could give every little boy and girl a real one, and we needn't be all crowded up in one big place, that's just called so. Sometimes, when I see all the houses it 'most seems as if there must be enough to go 'round; but I suppose there isn't. I guess it'll be the real kind we'll have up in heaven, and I want to go there; and that's why I send you this Bible, so you can learn about it. You must read it and be good. Oh, dear! it's dreadfully hard to be good when you haven't any mamma. I hope you've got one, if she is a heathen, for I'm most sure that's better than no kind. Good-bye.
"Rue Lindsay."
