Dear Mr. Jimie
We thank you very much for the lovly monkey you give. We name him java
because that's a warm iland across the ocian where he was born up in a
nest like a bird only big the doctor told us.
The first day he come every boy and girl shook his hand and said good
morning java his hand feels funny he holds so tite. I was afraid to
touch him but now I let him sit on my shoulder and put his arms around
my kneck if he wants to. He makes a funny noise that sounds like swering
and gets mad when his tale is puled.
We love him dearly and we love you two.
The next time you have to give a present, please send an elifant. Well I
guess Ill stop.
Yours truly,
SADIE KATE KILCOYNE.
Percy de Forest Witherspoon is still faithful to his little followers,
though I am so afraid he will get tired that I urge him to take frequent
vacations. He has not only been faithful himself, but has brought in
recruits. He has large social connections in the neighborhood, and last
Saturday evening he introduced two friends, nice men who sat around the
campfire and swapped hunting stories.
One of them was just back from around the world, and told hair-raising
anecdotes of the head hunters of Sarawak, a narrow pink country on the
top of Borneo. My little braves pant to grow up and get to Sarawak, and
go out on the war-path after head hunters. Every encyclopedia in this
institution has been consulted, and there isn't a boy here who cannot
tell you the history, manners, climate, flora, and fungi of Borneo.
I only wish Mr. Witherspoon would introduce friends who had been head
hunting in England, France, and Germany, countries not quite so CHIC as
Sarawak, but more useful for general culture.
We have a new cook, the fourth since my reign began. I haven't bothered
you with my cooking troubles, but institutions don't escape any
more than families. The last is a negro woman, a big, fat, smiling,
chocolate-colored creature from Souf Ca'lina. And ever since she came
on honey dew we've fed! Her name is--what do you guess? SALLIE, if you
please. I suggested that she change it.
"Sho, Miss, I's had dat name Sallie longer'n you, an' I couldn't get
used nohow to answerin' up pert-like when you sings out `Mollie!' Seems
like Sallie jest b'longs to me."
So "Sallie" she remains; but at least there is no danger of our getting
our letters mixed, for her last name is nothing so plebeian as McBride.
It's Johnston-Washington, with a hyphen.