"Oh, how happy you must have been! But then, if you never learned, how comes it that you can write them now? How can you always find something to say?" "I never write but when I have something to say; and you know, when you had something to say last post about Easter holidays, your pen, Oliver, went scratch, scratch, scratch, as fast as any body's." "So it did," cried Oliver; "but then the thing is, I'm forced to write when I've nothing about the holidays to say." "Forced?" "Yes, because I'm afraid my uncle and cousins should be angry if I didn't write." "I'm sure I'm much obliged," said Howard, "to my dear aunt, who never forced me to write: she always said, 'Never write, Charles, but when you like it;' and I never did. When I had any thing to say, that is, any thing to describe, or any reasons to give upon any subject, or any questions to ask, which I very much wished to have answered, then, you know, I could easily write, because I had nothing to do but to write down just the words which I should have said, if I had been speaking." "But I thought writing was quite a different thing from speaking, because, in writing, there must be sentences, and long sentences, and fine sentences, such as there are in books." "In _some_ books," said Howard; "but not in all." "Besides," continued Oliver, "one person's speaking is quite different from another person's speaking. Now I believe I make use of a great number of odd words, and vulgar expressions, and bad English, which I learned from being with the servants, I believe, at home. You have never talked to servants, Charles, I dare say, for you have not one of their words." "No," said Charles, "never; and my aunt took a great deal of pains to prevent me from hearing any of their conversation; therefore it was impossible that I should catch--" Here the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of old Paul, the gardener. "So, Paul," cried little Oliver, "I've been doing your work for you this morning; I've watered all the geraniums, and put the Indian corn in the sun; what kept you so late in your bed this fine morning, Paul?--fie, Paul!" "You would not say fie, master," replied Paul, "if you knew how early I had been out of my bed, this morning: I was abroad afore sunrise, so I was, master." "And why didn't you come to work then, Paul? You shall not have the watering-pot till you tell me: don't look so grave about it; you know you must smile when I please, Paul."