The next evening the Orderly-Sergeant handed Shorty a badly-thumb-marked and blotted yellow envelope, on which was scrawled in a very schoolish hand: "To Mister Corpril Elliott, "Co. Q, Two Hundred Injianny Volintears, "Chattynoogy, 10-S-E." Opening it he read: Mister Shortee U ar a Frawd!!! That's what U ar!!! Whairz mi Gunn?????? U ar a long-shanked, brick-topt Frawd & a promisbraker!!! Whairz mi Gunn??? U hav now bin away a hole month, & I haint seen no Gunn! Awl the boiz is makin fun ov Me, bekaws I blowed around bout the Gunn I waz going 2 git, & I didn't git none. Whairz mi Gunn??? I likked Ans. Beechum till he hollered nuff, for teezin Me bout mi Gunn. That's quiled the other boiz. But I want mi Gunn! I have just lots & Gobs 2 tell U, bout what Maria's bin sayin bout yore saffron head, but I shant write a word till I git mi Gunn! I wont tell U how the girls is pleggin her bout her Big Sunflower till I git mi Gunn! If U doant send mi Gunn rite off He tel Maria everything I no. I tel U now. He spile yore fun Onless at once U send mi Gunn. Yores til deth, SAMUEL WOGGLES. The reception of this perturbed Shorty to his depths. He had not forgotten his promise to Sammy--merely postponed its execution under the pressure of other engrossments. He reproached himself for not remembering how eagerly the boy had been looking forward to a possession which would make him the envy of the other boys--really hated by them for his towering and undeserved fortune.