DEAR MOTHER: Me and the boy that sleeps with me put a peace of paper on the door, and that made me feel better. I got the ten cents and your letter. I had to buy some pop-corn. All the boys buy pop-corn. A man has pop-corn to sell. Jim gave me some pop-corn that time my throat had a lump in it, and it felt better. It was red, and all sticky together. I think that was why. It's a buster of a house here, and it's got a bell on top of it. A boy rings it. It comes right down in his closet. It comes through a little round hole, and he pulls it, and he let me pull it once, and that makes it ring. There's lots of boys here, and some girls. There is doves living up where the bell is. I went up there. They kind of groan, and that is coon, when they coo. I like the doves, but I don't like their coon. Every boy writes their names up there. Sometimes they cuts their names, but Mr. Wiseman says you mustn't any more. Mr. Wiseman is the Principle, and he has got whiskers, and every boy has to mind him. He points and he says, "Go to your rooms!" and we go. Some boy sent him a paper, and it made him hoppin' mad. It was about a clock. It said: "Half way up the stairs he stands, And points and beckons with his hands." Jimmy has a room, and he sweeps it sometimes. I sleep with Jimmy. There isn't any woman to make up the bedclothes. We fix 'em. It isn't very hard. You just pull them up and tuck them down. There is a gong, and that makes you get up and eat breakfast. The breakfast is good. It is a round thing, and a girl pounds it. You put five tea-spoons of sugar in your tea-cup. A girl sits on the other side. There is lots of tables, and they make a noise. By and by, one gets through and walks out. There is a lock on the door, and that makes you hurry up or you can't have any breakfast. You can't get in. The ten cents is 'most gone. I hope you will write me again pretty soon.--Your son, DICKERSON H. P. S.--The peace of paper has got the days on it, and we scratch them off every night. There is sixty-one more to scratch off, and that will make it vacation. D. H. * * * _November 3, 1877._