I thort I wood rite you about Sandy’s valuntin; he wants one orful--one of those kind with lace and angels on it what come in unvelops. He has got the mumps and can’t go out, and Mother ain’t got any money to buy a valuntin, and father has been in heaven a long time. Won’t you plees look everywhere around the post-orfice, and in all the boxes on the lamp-posts, and see if you can’t find one for him? His name is Sandy Keith, and we live in the little brown house, number 27 Gregory Street, wher you don’t ever stop, even on Christmus. I will be looking for you at the winder tomorer noon. Plees don’t go by or cross the street this time.