"But I have no letters for you," said the postman.
"Give me one, I want to give one to my sister," cried Molly in a shrill voice.
The postman smiled and went off with his letter bag. Molly then snatched a letter from my hand and said, "Uncle, may I have this one?"
I recovered the letter in great haste and said, "What do you want with it?"
"I shall give it to my sister. She weeps everyday because she does not get any letters. Mother scolds her, my eldest sister scolds her; still she weeps and weeps."
Molly was letting out the family secrets in her innocence of heart. In order to divert her thoughts into another direction, I said, "But your sister would not like this letter. Her name is not written on it."
My reasons had no effect on Molly. She looked at me with eyes full of tears and said, "Why don't you write her name on it? Then it will be her letter, won't it?"
What a little pest! I said, "Molly, I don't know how to write your sister's name. And aren't you going home today? It is already getting dark and your mother will scold you if you stay out any longer."
The night had been unbearably cold and towards the morning I was clutching the blankets tightly about me and trying to make up for lost sleep, when all of a sudden I felt a small cold hand brush against my neck, and Molly's voice whispered, "Look here Uncle, here is a letter with my sister's name on it. Now please write her name on another letter and give it to me."
I never was in such a fix. And I never came across such a child! What was it to me whether her sister wept or not? I was just going to give her a piece of my mind, when a glance at the letter in her hand checked me. I sat up like a good-natured person and took the letter from her.
