human
We'll chirp with glee, No more we'll weep; Each chickadee Will loudly peep.
gpt
Well, that's certainly fine, Midget, for such little chickens. If it were the old hen, now, I wouldn't be so surprised, for I see her scratching on the ground every day. I suppose she's practising her writing lesson, but I never yet have been able to read the queer marks she makes. But these little yellow chickadees write plainly enough, and I do think they are wonderfully clever.
human
Yes, and isn't it funny that they can rhyme so well, too?
gpt
It is, indeed. I always said those Plymouth Rocks were the smartest chickens of all, but I never suspected they could write poetry.
human
And now, Uncle, I've only one left. Marjorie looked regretfully at the last letter, wishing there were a dozen more.
gpt
But I can keep them and read them over and over again, I like them so much. I'd answer them, but I don't believe those animals read as well as they write.
human
No, said Uncle Steve, wagging his head sagely,
gpt
I don't believe they do. Well, read your last one, Mops, and let's see who wrote it.
human
Why, Uncle, it's from the dogs! It's signed 'Nero and Tray and Rover'! Weren't they just darling to write to me! I believe I miss the dogs more than anything else, because I can have Puffy up here with me.