Dear Sissy,
I guess you figured out by now that I ain't coming back, which means you're in charge now. The good news is I ain't dead, which anybody with half a brain could have figured but clearly neither Pa nor that poet have half a brain, so I have a clean getaway behind me. I've been saving pennies for years and I aim to go upriver and stake my own claim. There's no point in waiting for Pa to get off his duff and do a thing towards providing for us, and there's better work than selling duck eggs, plus I have a business mind I plan to put to use for myself.
Pa's okay for living with if you feed him a good duck egg and some biscuits in the morning and then try to stay out of the way at night if he's been drinking which as you know is sadly often the case. I'm sorry I can't be there for you now but you're old enough to take care of yourself. If he finds gold… ha ha I make myself laugh. Just take care of the ducks, sell the eggs when you can, and you'll scrape by a while longer I expect. At least you got small feet so you can get shoes.
You can have that dumb poet guy, if you want him. It seems like you've been looking at him plenty. Let me warn you though: that kind is only writing to keep his hands from touching himself. The only person he loves is himself, so all the words he writes about loving anybody is really about the ways he loves his own words pouring out of his own mouth and filling up his own ears. He don't love me and he won't love you neither, and poets can't really provide much which is why I'm getting out of here.
If you want to find me I'll be mining under the name Clement Innes. Don't tell nobody I'm alive or I'll disappear again, forever. I'm dreadful sorry to leave you but I can't stay here with all this stupid for one more day. Good luck, Sissy.
tuckova 
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