Dear Mother,
    Augustus Earle ruined his fifth paint brush two days ago. While painting a picture of me while sitting by the anchor of the ship, he was telling me to be still. He was so wrapped up about it that he dipped his paint brush in oily water. He was really unhappy.
    "Oh, i will get you a new one," I said.
    He didn't hear me. "Oh bother, my fifth paint brush this week. When will I actually get use of a paint brush for three days at least?!" He excused me.
    I am really tired. I just woke the watch man up and I have to go to sleep.
   

Love,                     
Mary Grace Brown