Thursday evening at twilight,
sitting on the doorstep.

Very hard to get any news into this letter! Judy is becoming
so philosophical of late, that she wishes to discourse largely
of the world in general, instead of descending to the trivial
details of daily life. But if you MUST have news, here it is:

Our nine young pigs waded across the brook and ran away last Tuesday,
and only eight came back. We don't want to accuse anyone unjustly,
but we suspect that Widow Dowd has one more than she ought to have.

Mr. Weaver has painted his barn and his two silos a bright pumpkin yellow--
a very ugly colour, but he says it will wear.

The Brewers have company this week; Mrs. Brewer's sister and two
nieces from Ohio.

One of our Rhode Island Reds only brought off three chicks
out of fifteen eggs. We can't imagine what was the trouble.
Rhode island Reds, in my opinion, are a very inferior breed.
I prefer Buff Orpingtons.

The new clerk in the post office at Bonnyrigg Four Corners drank
every drop of Jamaica ginger they had in stock--seven dollars'
worth--before he was discovered.

Old Ira Hatch has rheumatism and can't work any more; he never saved
his money when he was earning good wages, so now he has to live