  “Whatever shall we say?” They had been trying for the last three hours, and were getting quite out of patience. “Go on, Mollie, have another try.” “‘My dear Uncle’—no, we can’t put ‘my,’ because he’s ‘ours,’” said Mollie, crossing out the “my.” “Just—‘Dear Uncle Henry.’” “He mightn’t like ‘Henry,’” suggested Eva. “No, he might rather be called Harry,” said Eileen. “Let’s leave his name out.” “All right. Just ‘Dear Uncle’——” “He mightn’t know it’s for him if you just put that,” cried Doris, and then they all laughed. “All right, just ‘Dear Uncle,—You will no doubt be astonished to hear from us’——” “No, from the five undersigned,” put in Eileen. “It’s more business-like.” “All right—‘from the five undersigned. No doubt you do not know that you have five little nieces away up in the bush in New South Wales——’” “Australia,” put in Eva. “We don’t want Australia,” cried Eileen in disgust. “Yes, ‘New South Wales.’ Go on, Mollie.” “Let me see—‘and we would very much like to meet you. We have no idea where you are now, but hope this letter will reach you.’” “Yes, that’s right!” “‘We live up here in the bush, and have a very quiet time’—quiet time,” she repeated, tapping her pencil. “‘And we’re poor,’” put in Doris, “‘and would like some money.’” “No, we can’t put it that way.” “Well, hurry up, then, and ask for the money.” “We’re not asking for money,” said Mollie, severely. “We’re going to ask him to come and see us, and then——” “And then we’re hoping he’ll give us some,” cried Eva. “No!” cried Eileen, excitedly. “We’ll trust to his generosity——” “Oh, yes! put in ‘generosity’—it sounds so well,” said Eva. “‘For some years Father has had very hard times,’” went on Mollie, “‘and we’re all struggling’——” “‘But things get no better,’” blurted out Eileen, “‘worse—if anything.’” “‘All struggling,’” went on Mollie, “‘but things are still very black.’” “‘And there don’t seem a chance of a silver lining,’” chimed in Eva. “Silver lining, be hanged!” said Eileen. “He’s the only hope we’ve got of a silver lining.” “‘And as we’ve heard, Uncle, that you are very, very wealthy’——perhaps I ought to say ‘we’ve heard by accident,’” said Mollie, perplexedly; “you see, he might think Father and Mother are always talking about him if I don’t.” “Yes, ‘by accident,’” agreed Eileen. “‘By accident, that you are very wealthy; we’ve been hoping to meet you and tell you all our troubles.’” “Don’t forget about the foal and the fire and——” “Oh, shut up, Doris!” snapped Eileen. “‘And perhaps you can set matters right for us. We don’t want to beg, Uncle. We only ask you if you could give us a loan.’ We’ll have to mention money, girls,” said Mollie; “we can’t wait till he comes——‘perhaps you could give us a loan by helping Father and Mother (who work so hard), and when we grow up we’ll pay back every penny of it. We’re all strong and healthy and willing to work.’” “‘And we’re as clever as most people,’” put in Eileen. “Yes, ‘and we can assure you that we would be quite clever if we got a chance, and would be all willing to take up something to make money to pay you back, if you would only let us have a loan soon.’” “Oh, Mollie, you are clever,” said Eva, “to write all that!” “Yes, I’m pretty good at letters,” answered Mollie. “‘If possible, we would like you to come and see us.’” “Tell him he can have the verandah room,” said Doris. “‘And then you could decide for yourself if you would care to help us.’” “Don’t forget to tell him not to tell Father and Mother that we wrote,” warned Eva. “Oh, no!” they all cried. “‘And now, Uncle, we have a big favour to ask of you. Don’t, please, let Mother and Father know we wrote to you, on any account, because they would be fearfully annoyed. It’s because they’re working so hard and try to do their best, and are so cheerful about all the bad times, that we’re writing to you.’” “I think we ought to write another one all over again, and tell him right at the beginning it’s a secret,” said Eileen. “Oh! do you think so?” asked Mollie, wearily. “I wonder ought we? I’m just about sick of it. It’s about the hardest thing I ever tried.” “Oh, it’s sickening!” declared Doris. “Ugh!” grunted Baby. “I’ve scribbled about a hundred already, and we’re just as far off as when we started,” said Mollie. “I wish he’d ride up this very instant and save us all this trouble.” And she looked away and sighed. “Oh, well! I suppose we’ll only have to do it. We’ll have to stick at it till we do get something to suit.” “Yes, we’ll have to have it ready for to-morrow’s mail,” said Eileen. “Oh, yes, it has to be done! Let’s have another go.” They had a great many “goes” before they managed one to satisfy them, but at last they all gathered round while Mollie read the last one out aloud, and they declared that would have to do.
“Won’t that s’prise him?” chuckled Doris, clasping her fat hands. Eileen gave her a withering look, to command silence.
Mollie Hudson, aged 14 years, blue eyes and goldeny hair. Eileen Hudson, aged 12 years, dark eyes and hair. Eva Hudson, aged 9 years, grey eyes and dark hair. Doris Hudson, aged 5 years, blue eyes and fair hair. Baby Hudson (X, her mark), aged 2 years, blue eyes and fair hair.
Address: Misses Hudson, “Gillong,” Bragan Junction, N.W. Line, N.S.W.
To H. Hudson, Esq., C/o the Firm of Langdon & Ross, Collins Street, Melbourne, Victoria. Private, Confidential & Urgent. Important. “That ought to be plain enough,” said Mollie, anxiously. “He ought to understand just what we mean.” “Understand? Of course he’ll understand! He ought to go and bury himself if he doesn’t,” declared Eileen, vehemently. “Why, a man with one eye and a wooden leg would understand that. I’m glad it’s over,” she went on; “it’s the hardest bit of work I ever tackled!” |
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