2nd June
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

You will never guess the nice thing that has happened.

The McBrides have asked me to spend the summer at their camp in
the Adirondacks! They belong to a sort of club on a lovely little
lake in the middle of the woods. The different members have houses
made of logs dotted about among the trees, and they go canoeing
on the lake, and take long walks through trails to other camps,
and have dances once a week in the club house--Jimmie McBride is
going to have a college friend visiting him part of the summer,
so you see we shall have plenty of men to dance with.

Wasn't it sweet of Mrs. McBride to ask me? It appears that she
liked me when I was there for Christmas.

Please excuse this being short. It isn't a real letter; it's just
to let you know that I'm disposed of for the summer.
Yours,
In a VERY contented frame of mind,
Judy



5th June
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Your secretary man has just written to me saying that Mr. Smith
prefers that I should not accept Mrs. McBride's invitation,
but should return to Lock Willow the same as last summer.

Why, why, WHY, Daddy?

You don't understand about it. Mrs. McBride does want me,
really and truly. I'm not the least bit of trouble in the house.
I'm a help. They don't take up many servants, and Sallie an I can do lots
of useful things. It's a fine chance for me to learn housekeeping.
Every woman ought to understand it, an I only know asylum-keeping.

There aren't any girls our age at the camp, and Mrs. McBride wants
me for a companion for Sallie. We are planning to do a lot of
reading together. We are going to read all of the books for next
year's English and sociology. The Professor said it would be a great
help if we would get our reading finished in the summer; and it's
so much easier to remember it if we read together and talk it over.

Just to live in the same house with Sallie's mother is an education.
She's the most interesting, entertaining, companionable, charming woman
in the world; she knows everything. Think how many summers I've
spent with Mrs. Lippett and how I'll appreciate the contrast.
You needn't be afraid that I'll be crowding them, for their house is
made of rubber. When they have a lot of company, they just sprinkle
tents about in the woods and turn the boys outside. It's going to be
such a nice, healthy summer exercising out of doors every minute.
Jimmie McBride is going to teach me how to ride horseback and paddle
a canoe, and how to shoot and--oh, lots of things I ought to know.
It's the kind of nice, jolly, care-free time that I've never had;
and I think every girl deserves it once in her life. Of course I'll
do exactly as you say, but please, PLEASE let me go, Daddy. I've never
wanted anything so much.

This isn't Jerusha Abbott, the future great author, writing to you.
It's just Judy--a girl.


9th June
Mr. John Smith,

SIR: Yours of the 7th inst. at hand. In compliance with the
instructions received through your secretary, I leave on Friday
next to spend the summer at Lock Willow Farm.

I hope always to remain,
(Miss) Jerusha Abbott



LOCK WILLOW FARM,
3rd August
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

It has been nearly two months since I wrote, which wasn't nice of me,
I know, but I haven't loved you much this summer--you see I'm
being frank!

You can't imagine how disappointed I was at having to give up
the McBrides' camp. Of course I know that you're my guardian,
and that I have to regard your wishes in all matters, but I couldn't
see any REASON. It was so distinctly the best thing that could
have happened to me. If I had been Daddy, and you had been Judy,
I should have said, `Bless yo my child, run along and have a
good time; see lots of new people and learn lots of new things;
live out of doors, and get strong and well and rested for a year
of hard work.'

But not at all! Just a curt line from your secretary ordering me
to Lock Willow.

It's the impersonality of your commands that hurts my feelings.
It seems as though, if you felt the tiniest little bit for me the
way I feel for you, you'd sometimes send me a message that you'd
written with your own hand, instead of those beastly typewritten
secretary's notes. If there were the slightest hint that you cared,
I'd do anything on earth to please you.

I know that I was to write nice, long, detailed letters without ever
expecting any answer. You're living up to your side of the bargain--
I'm being educated--and I suppose you're thinking I'm not living up
to mine!

But, Daddy, it is a hard bargain. It is, really. I'm so awfully lonely.
You are the only person I have to care for, and you are so shadowy.
You're just an imaginary man that I've made up--and probably
the real YOU isn't a bit like my imaginary YOU. But you did once,
when I was ill in the infirmary, send me a message, and now,
when I am feeling awfully forgotten, I get out your card and read
it over.

I don't think I am telling you at all what I started to say,
which was this:

Although my feelings are still hurt, for it is very humiliating
to be picked up and moved about by an arbitrary, peremptory,
unreasonable, omnipotent, invisible Providence, still, when a man
has been as kind and generous and thoughtful as you have heretofore
been towards me, I suppose he has a right to be an arbitrary,
peremptory, unreasonable, invisible Providence if he chooses, and so--
I'll forgive you and be cheerful again. But I still don't enjoy
getting Sallie's letters about the good times they are having in camp!

However--we will draw a veil over that and begin again.

I've been writing and writing this summer; four short stories
finished and sent to four different magazines. So you see I'm
trying to be an author. I have a workroom fixed in a corner of the
attic where Master Jervie used to have his rainy-day playroom.
It's in a cool, breezy corner with two dormer windows, and shaded
by a maple tree with a family of red squirrels living in a hole.

I'll write a nicer letter in a few days and tell you all the farm news.

We need rain.
Yours as ever,
Judy



10th August
Mr. Daddy-Long-Legs,

SIR: I address you from the second crotch in the willow tree
by the pool in the pasture. There's a frog croaking underneath,
a locust singing overhead and two little `devil downheads'
darting up and down the trunk. I've been here for an hour;
it's a very comfortable crotch, especially after being upholstered
with two sofa cushions. I came up with a pen and tablet hoping to
write an immortal short story, but I've been having a dreadful time
with my heroine--I CAN'T make her behave as I want her to behave;
so I've abandoned her for the moment, and am writing to you.
(Not much relief though, for I can't make you behave as I want
you to, either.)

If you are in that dreadful New York, I wish I could send you some
of this lovely, breezy, sunshiny outlook. The country is Heaven
after a week of rain.

Speaking of Heaven--do you remember Mr. Kellogg that I told you about
last summer?--the minister of the little white church at the Corners.
Well, the poor old soul is dead--last winter of pneumonia. I went
half a dozen times to hear him preach and got very well acquainted
with his theology. He believed to the end exactly the same things
he started with. It seems to me that a man who can think straight
along for forty-seven years without changing a single idea ought to
be kept in a cabinet as a curiosity. I hope he is enjoying his harp
and golden crown; he was so perfectly sure of finding them! There's a
new young man, very consequential, in his place. The congregation
is pretty dubious, especially the faction led by Deacon Cummings.
It looks as though there was going to be an awful split in the church.
We don't care for innovations in religion in this neighbourhood.

During our week of rain I sat up in the attic and had an orgy
of reading--Stevenson, mostly. He himself is more entertaining
than any of the characters in his books; I dare say he made himself
into the kind of hero that would look well in print. Don't you
think it was perfect of him to spend all the ten thousand dollars
his father left, for a yacht, and go sailing off to the South Seas?
He lived up to his adventurous creed. If my father had left me ten
thousand dollars, I'd do it, too. The thought of Vailima makes
me wild. I want to see the tropics. I want to see the whole world.
I am going to be a great author, or artist, or actress, or playwright--
or whatever sort of a great person I turn out to be. I have a
terrible wanderthirst; the very sight of a map makes me want to put
on my hat and take an umbrella and start. `I shall see before I die
the palms and temples of the South.'



Thursday evening at twilight,
sitting on the doorstep.

Very hard to get any news into this letter! Judy is becoming
so philosophical of late, that she wishes to discourse largely
of the world in general, instead of descending to the trivial
details of daily life. But if you MUST have news, here it is:

Our nine young pigs waded across the brook and ran away last Tuesday,
and only eight came back. We don't want to accuse anyone unjustly,
but we suspect that Widow Dowd has one more than she ought to have.

Mr. Weaver has painted his barn and his two silos a bright pumpkin yellow--
a very ugly colour, but he says it will wear.

The Brewers have company this week; Mrs. Brewer's sister and two
nieces from Ohio.

One of our Rhode Island Reds only brought off three chicks
out of fifteen eggs. We can't imagine what was the trouble.
Rhode island Reds, in my opinion, are a very inferior breed.
I prefer Buff Orpingtons.

The new clerk in the post office at Bonnyrigg Four Corners drank
every drop of Jamaica ginger they had in stock--seven dollars'
worth--before he was discovered.

Old Ira Hatch has rheumatism and can't work any more; he never saved
his money when he was earning good wages, so now he has to live
on the town.

There's to be an ice-cream social at the schoolhouse next
Saturday evening. Come and bring your families.

I have a new hat that I bought for twenty-five cents at the post office.
This is my latest portrait, on my way to rake the hay.

It's getting too dark to see; anyway, the news is all used up.
Good night,
Judy



Friday

Good morning! Here is some news! What do you think? You'd never,
never, never guess who's coming to Lock Willow. A letter to Mrs.
Semple from Mr. Pendleton. He's motoring through the Berkshires,
and is tired and wants to rest on a nice quiet farm--if he climbs
out at her doorstep some night will she have a room ready for him?
Maybe he'll stay one week, or maybe two, or maybe three; he'll see
how restful it is when he gets here.

Such a flutter as we are in! The whole house is being cleaned and
all the curtains washed. I am driving to the Corners this morning
to get some new oilcloth for the entry, and two cans of brown floor
paint for the hall and back stairs. Mrs. Dowd is engaged to come
tomorrow to wash the windows (in the exigency of the moment, we waive
our suspicions in regard to the piglet). You might think, from this
account of our activities, that the house was not already immaculate;
but I assure you it was! Whatever Mrs. Semple's limitations,
she is a HOUSEKEEPER.

But isn't it just like a man, Daddy? He doesn't give the remotest
hint as to whether he will land on the doorstep today, or two weeks
from today. We shall live in a perpetual breathlessness until he comes--
and if he doesn't hurry, the cleaning may all have to be done over again.

There's Amasai waiting below with the buckboard and Grover.
I drive alone--but if you could see old Grove, you wouldn't be
worried as to my safety.

With my hand on my heart--farewell.
Judy


PS. Isn't that a nice ending? I got it out of Stevenson's
letters.



Saturday Good
morning again! I didn't get this ENVELOPED yesterday before
the postman came, so I'll add some more. We have one mail a day
at twelve o'clock. Rural delivery is a blessing to the farmers!
Our postman not only delivers letters, but he runs errands for us
in town, at five cents an errand. Yesterday he brought me some
shoe-strings and a jar of cold cream (I sunburned all the skin
off my nose before I got my new hat) and a blue Windsor tie and a
bottle of blacking all for ten cents. That was an unusual bargain,
owing to the largeness of my order.

Also he tells us what is happening in the Great World.
Several people on the route take daily papers, and he reads them as he
jogs along, and repeats the news to the ones who don't subscribe.
So in case a war breaks out between the United States and Japan,
or the president is assassinated, or Mr. Rockefeller leaves a million
dollars to the John Grier Home, you needn't bother to write;
I'll hear it anyway.

No sign yet of Master Jervie. But you should see how clean our
house is--and with what anxiety we wipe our feet before we step in!

I hope he'll come soon; I am longing for someone to talk to.
Mrs. Semple, to tell you the truth, gets rather monotonous.
She never lets ideas interrupt the easy flow of her conversation.
It's a funny thing about the people here. Their world is just
this single hilltop. They are not a bit universal, if you know
what I mean. It's exactly the same as at the John Grier Home.
Our ideas there were bounded by the four sides of the iron fence,
only I didn't mind it so much because I was younger, and was so
awfully busy. By the time I'd got all my beds made and my babies'
faces washed and had gone to school and come home and had washed their
faces again and darned their stockings and mended Freddie Perkins's
trousers (he tore them every day of his life) and learned my lessons
in between--I was ready to go to bed, and I didn't notice any lack
of social intercourse. But after two years in a conversational college,
I do miss it; and I shall be glad to see somebody who speaks
my language.

I really believe I've finished, Daddy. Nothing else occurs to me
at the moment--I'll try to write a longer letter next time.
Yours always,
Judy


PS. The lettuce hasn't done at all well this year. It was so dry
early in the season.


25th August

Well, Daddy, Master Jervie's here. And such a nice time as
we're having! At least I am, and I think he is, too--he has been
here ten days and he doesn't show any signs of going. The way
Mrs. Semple pampers that man is scandalous. If she indulged him
as much when he was a baby, I don't know how he ever turned out so well.

He and I eat at a little table set on the side porch, or sometimes
under the trees, or--when it rains or is cold--in the best parlour.
He just picks out the spot he wants to eat in and Carrie trots
after him with the table. Then if it has been an awful nuisance,
and she has had to carry the dishes very far, she finds a dollar
under the sugar bowl.

He is an awfully companionable sort of man, though you would never
believe it to see him casually; he looks at first glance like a
true Pendleton, but he isn't in the least. He is just as simple
and unaffected and sweet as he can be--that seems a funny way
to describe a man, but it's true. He's extremely nice with the
farmers around here; he meets them in a sort of man-to-man fashion
that disarms them immediately. They were very suspicious at first.
They didn't care for his clothes! And I will say that his clothes
are rather amazing. He wears knickerbockers and pleated jackets
and white flannels and riding clothes with puffed trousers.
Whenever he comes down in anything new, Mrs. Semple, beaming with pride,
walks around and views him from every angle, and urges him to be careful
where he sits down; she is so afraid he will pick up some dust.
It bores him dreadfully. He's always saying to her:

`Run along, Lizzie, and tend to your work. You can't boss me
any longer. I've grown up.'

It's awfully funny to think of that great big, long-legged man (he's
nearly as long-legged as you, Daddy) ever sitting in Mrs. Semple's lap
and having his face washed. Particularly funny when you see her lap!
She has two laps now, and three chins. But he says that once she
was thin and wiry and spry and could run faster than he.

Such a lot of adventures we're having! We've explored the country
for miles, and I've learned to fish with funny little flies made
of feathers. Also to shoot with a rifle and a revolver. Also to
ride horseback--there's an astonishing amount of life in old Grove.
We fed him on oats for three days, and he shied at a calf and almost
ran away with me.

Wednesday

We climbed Sky Hill Monday afternoon. That's a mountain near here;
not an awfully high mountain, perhaps--no snow on the summit--but at
least you are pretty breathless when you reach the top. The lower slopes
are covered with woods, but the top is just piled rocks and open moor.
We stayed up for the sunset and built a fire and cooked our supper.
Master Jervie did the cooking; he said he knew how better than me
and he did, too, because he's used to camping. Then we came down
by moonlight, and, when we reached the wood trail where it was dark,
by the light of an electric bulb that he had in his pocket.
It was such fun! He laughed and joked all the way and talked
about interesting things. He's read all the books I've ever read,
and a lot of others besides. It's astonishing how many different
things he knows.

We went for a long tramp this morning and got caught in a storm.
Our clothes were drenched before we reached home but our spirits not
even damp. You should have seen Mrs. Semple's face when we dripped
into her kitchen.

`Oh, Master Jervie--Miss Judy! You are soaked through. Dear! Dear!
What shall I do? That nice new coat is perfectly ruined.'

She was awfully funny; you would have thought that we were ten
years old, and she a distracted mother. I was afraid for a while
that we weren't going to get any jam for tea.



Saturday

I started this letter ages ago, but I haven't had a second to finish it.

Isn't this a nice thought from Stevenson?


The world is so full of a number of things,
I am sure we should all be as happy as kings.


It's true, you know. The world is full of happiness, and plenty
to go round, if you are only willing to take the kind that comes
your way. The whole secret is in being PLIABLE. In the country,
especially, there are such a lot of entertaining things.
I can walk over everybody's land, and look at everybody's view,
and dabble in everybody's brook; and enjoy it just as much
as though I owned the land--and with no taxes to pay!

It's Sunday night now, about eleven o'clock,
and I am supposed to be getting some beauty
sleep, but I had black coffee for dinner, so--no beauty sleep for me!

This morning, said Mrs. Semple to Mr. Pendleton, with a very
determined accent:

`We have to leave here at a quarter past ten in order to get
to church by eleven.'

`Very well, Lizzie,' said Master Jervie, `you have the buggy ready,
and if I'm not dressed, just go on without waiting.' 'We'll wait,'
said she.

`As you please,' said he, `only don't keep the horses standing
too long.'

Then while she was dressing, he told Carrie to pack up a lunch,
and he told me to scramble into my walking clothes; and we slipped
out the back way and went fishing.

It discommoded the household dreadfully, because Lock Willow of
a Sunday dines at two. But he ordered dinner at seven--he orders meals
whenever he chooses; you would think the place were a restaurant--
and that kept Carrie and Amasai from going driving. But he said it
was all the better because it wasn't proper for them to go driving
without a chaperon; and anyway, he wanted the horses himself to take
me driving. Did you ever hear anything so funny?

And poor Mrs. Semple believes that people who go fishing on Sundays go
afterwards to a sizzling hot hell! She is awfully troubled to think
that she didn't train him better when he was small and helpless
and she had the chance. Besides--she wished to show him off in church.

Anyway, we had our fishing (he caught four little ones) and we cooked
them on a camp-fire for lunch. They kept falling off our spiked
sticks into the fire, so they tasted a little ashy, but we ate them.
We got home at four and went driving at five and had dinner at seven,
and at ten I was sent to bed and here I am, writing to you.

I am getting a little sleepy, though.
Good night.


Here is a picture of the one fish I caught.



Ship Ahoy, Cap'n Long-Legs!

Avast! Belay! Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum. Guess what I'm reading?
Our conversation these past two days has been nautical and piratical.
Isn't Treasure Island fun? Did you ever read it, or wasn't it
written when you were a boy? Stevenson only got thirty pounds for
the serial rights--I don't believe it pays to be a great author.
Maybe I'll be a school-teacher.

Excuse me for filling my letters so full of Stevenson; my mind
is very much engaged with him at present. He comprises Lock
Willow's library.

I've been writing this letter for two weeks, and I think it's
about long enough. Never say, Daddy, that I don't give details.
I wish you were here, too; we'd all have such a jolly time together.
I like my different friends to know each other. I wanted to ask
Mr. Pendleton if he knew you in New York--I should think he might;
you must move in about the same exalted social circles, and you are
both interested in reforms and things--but I couldn't, for I don't know
your real name.

It's the silliest thing I ever heard of, not to know your name.
Mrs. Lippett warned me that you were eccentric. I should think so!
Affectionately,
Judy


PS. On reading this over, I find that it isn't all Stevenson.
There are one or two glancing references to Master Jervie.



10th September
Dear Daddy,

He has gone, and we are missing him! When you get accustomed to
people or places or ways of living, and then have them snatched away,
it does leave an awfully empty, gnawing sort of sensation.
I'm finding Mrs. Semple's conversation pretty unseasoned food.

College opens in two weeks and I shall be glad to begin work again.
I have worked quite a lot this summer though--six short stories and
seven poems. Those I sent to the magazines all came back with the
most courteous promptitude. But I don't mind. It's good practice.
Master Jervie read them--he brought in the post, so I couldn't
help his knowing--and he said they were DREADFUL. They showed
that I didn't have the slightest idea of what I was talking about.
(Master Jervie doesn't let politeness interfere with truth.)
But the last one I did--just a little sketch laid in college--
he said wasn't bad; and he had it typewritten, and I sent it
to a magazine. They've had it two weeks; maybe they're thinking
it over.

You should see the sky! There's the queerest orange-coloured light
over everything. We're going to have a storm.


It commenced just that moment with tremendously big drops and all
the shutters banging. I had to run to close the windows, while Carrie
flew to the attic with an armful of milk pans to put under the places
where the roof leaks and then, just as I was resuming my pen,
I remembered that I'd left a cushion and rug and hat and Matthew
Arnold's poems under a tree in the orchard, so I dashed out to get them,
all quite soaked. The red cover of the poems had run into the inside;
Dover Beach in the future will be washed by pink waves.

A storm is awfully disturbing in the country. You are always having
to think of so many things that are out of doors and getting spoiled.

Thursday

Daddy! Daddy! What do you think? The postman has just come
with two letters.

1st. My story is accepted. $50.

ALORS! I'm an AUTHOR.

2nd. A letter from the college secretary. I'm to have a scholarship
for two years that will cover board and tuition. It was founded
for `marked proficiency in English with general excellency in
other lines.' And I've won it! I applied for it before I left,
but I didn't have an idea I'd get it, on account of my Freshman
bad work in maths and Latin. But it seems I've made it up. I am
awfully glad, Daddy, because now I won't be such a burden to you.
The monthly allowance will be all I'll need, and maybe I can earn
that with writing or tutoring or something.

I'm LONGING to go back and begin work.
Yours ever,
Jerusha Abbott,

Author of When the Sophomores Won
the Game. For sale at all news
stands, price ten cents.



26th September
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Back at college again and an upper classman. Our study is better
than ever this year--faces the South with two huge windows and oh!
so furnished. Julia, with an unlimited allowance, arrived two days
early and was attacked with a fever for settling.

We have new wall paper and oriental rugs and mahogany chairs--
not painted mahogany which made us sufficiently happy last year,
but real. It's very gorgeous, but I don't feel as though I belonged
in it; I'm nervous all the time for fear I'll get an ink spot in the
wrong place.

And, Daddy, I found your letter waiting for me--pardon--I mean
your secretary's.

Will you kindly convey to me a comprehensible reason why I should
not accept that scholarship? I don't understand your objection
in the least. But anyway, it won't do the slightest good for you
to object, for I've already accepted it and I am not going to change!
That sounds a little impertinent, but I don't mean it so.

I suppose you feel that when you set out to educate me, you'd like to
finish the work, and put a neat period, in the shape of a diploma,
at the end.

But look at it just a second from my point of view. I shall owe my
education to you just as much as though I let you pay for the whole of it,
but I won't be quite so much indebted. I know that you don't want me
to return the money, but nevertheless, I am going to want to do it,
if I possibly can; and winning this scholarship makes it so much easier.
I was expecting to spend the rest of my life in paying my debts,
but now I shall only have to spend one-half of the rest of it.

I hope you understand my position and won't be cross. The allowance
I shall still most gratefully accept. It requires an allowance
to live up to Julia and her furniture! I wish that she had been
reared to simpler tastes, or else that she were not my room-mate.

This isn't much of a letter; I meant to have written a lot--but I've
been hemming four window curtains and three portieres (I'm glad you
can't see the length of the stitches), and polishing a brass desk
set with tooth powder (very uphill work), and sawing off picture
wire with manicure scissors, and unpacking four boxes of books,
and putting away two trunkfuls of clothes (it doesn't seem believable
that Jerusha Abbott owns two trunks full of clothes, but she does!)
and welcoming back fifty dear friends in between.

Opening day is a joyous occasion!

Good night, Daddy dear, and don't be annoyed because your
chick is wanting to scratch for herself. She's growing up
into an awfully energetic little hen--with a very determined
cluck and lots of beautiful feathers (all due to you).
Affectionately,
Judy


30th September
Dear Daddy,

Are you still harping on that scholarship? I never knew a man
so obstinate, and stubborn and unreasonable, and tenacious,
and bull-doggish, and unable-to-see-other-people's-point-of-view,
as you.

You prefer that I should not be accepting favours from strangers.

Strangers!--And what are you, pray?

Is there anyone in the world that I know less? I shouldn't recognize
you if I met you in the street. Now, you see, if you had been a sane,
sensible person and had written nice, cheering fatherly letters to your
little Judy, and had come occasionally and patted her on the head,
and had said you were glad she was such a good girl--Then, perhaps,
she wouldn't have flouted you in your old age, but would have obeyed
your slightest wish like the dutiful daughter she was meant to be.

Strangers indeed! You live in a glass house, Mr. Smith.

And besides, this isn't a favour; it's like a prize--I earned it by
hard work. If nobody had been good enough in English, the committee
wouldn't have awarded the scholarship; some years they don't. Also--
But what's the use of arguing with a man? You belong, Mr. Smith,
to a sex devoid of a sense of logic. To bring a man into line,
there are just two methods: one must either coax or be disagreeable.
I scorn to coax men for what I wish. Therefore, I must be disagreeable.

I refuse, sir, to give up the scholarship; and if you make any
more fuss, I won't accept the monthly allowance either, but will
wear myself into a nervous wreck tutoring stupid Freshmen.

That is my ultimatum!

And listen--I have a further thought. Since you are so afraid that by
taking this scholarship I am depriving someone else of an education,
I know a way out. You can apply the money that you would have spent
for me towards educating some other little girl from the John Grier Home.
Don't you think that's a nice idea? Only, Daddy, EDUCATE the new
girl as much as you choose, but please don't LIKE her any better than me.

I trust that your secretary won't be hurt because I pay so little
attention to the suggestions offered in his letter, but I can't
help it if he is. He's a spoiled child, Daddy. I've meekly given
in to his whims heretofore, but this time I intend to be FIRM.

Yours,
With a mind,
Completely and Irrevocably and
World-without-End Made-up,

Jerusha Abbott



9th November
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

I started down town today to buy a bottle of shoe blacking and some
collars and the material for a new blouse and a jar of violet cream
and a cake of Castile soap--all very necessary; I couldn't be happy
another day without them--and when I tried to pay the car fare,
I found that I had left my purse in the pocket of my other coat.
So I had to get out and take the next car, and was late for gymnasium.

It's a dreadful thing to have no memory and two coats!

Julia Pendleton has invited me to visit her for the Christmas holidays.
How does that strike you, Mr. Smith? Fancy Jerusha Abbott,
of the John Grier Home, sitting at the tables of the rich.
I don't know why Julia wants me--she seems to be getting quite
attached to me of late. I should, to tell the truth, very much
prefer going to Sallie's, but Julia asked me first, so if I
go anywhere it must be to New York instead of to Worcester.
I'm rather awed at the prospect of meeting Pendletons EN MASSE,
and also I'd have to get a lot of new clothes--so, Daddy dear,
if you write that you would prefer having me remain quietly at college,
I will bow to your wishes with my usual sweet docility.

I'm engaged at odd moments with the Life and Letters of Thomas Huxley--
it makes nice, light reading to pick up between times. Do you know
what an archaeopteryx is? It's a bird. And a stereognathus?
I'm not sure myself, but I think it's a missing link, like a bird
with teeth or a lizard with wings. No, it isn't either; I've just
looked in the book. It's a mesozoic mammal.

I've elected economics this year--very illuminating subject.
When I finish that I'm going to take Charity and Reform; then,
Mr. Trustee, I'll know just how an orphan asylum ought to be run.
Don't you think I'd make an admirable voter if I had my rights?
I was twenty-one last week. This is an awfully wasteful country to
throw away such an honest, educated, conscientious, intelligent citizen
as I would be.
Yours always,
Judy



7th December
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Thank you for permission to visit Julia--I take it that silence
means consent.

Such a social whirl as we've been having! The Founder's dance came
last week--this was the first year that any of us could attend;
only upper classmen being allowed.

I invited Jimmie McBride, and Sallie invited his room-mate
at Princeton, who visited them last summer at their camp--an awfully
nice man with red hair--and Julia invited a man from New York,
not very exciting, but socially irreproachable. He is connected
with the De la Mater Chichesters. Perhaps that means something
to you? It doesn't illuminate me to any extent.

However--our guests came Friday afternoon in time for tea in the
senior corridor, and then dashed down to the hotel for dinner.
The hotel was so full that they slept in rows on the billiard tables,
they say. Jimmie McBride says that the next time he is bidden
to a social event in this college, he is going to bring one of their
Adirondack tents and pitch it on the campus.

At seven-thirty they came back for the President's reception and dance.
Our functions commence early! We had the men's cards all made out
ahead of time, and after every dance, we'd leave them in groups,
under the letter that stood for their names, so that they could be
readily found by their next partners. Jimmie McBride, for example,
would stand patiently under `M' until he was claimed. (At least,
he ought to have stood patiently, but he kept wandering off
and getting mixed with `R's' and `S's' and all sorts of letters.)
I found him a very difficult guest; he was sulky because he had
only three dances with me. He said he was bashful about dancing
with girls he didn't know!

The next morning we had a glee club concert--and who do you think
wrote the funny new song composed for the occasion? It's the truth.
She did. Oh, I tell you, Daddy, your little foundling is getting
to be quite a prominent person!

Anyway, our gay two days were great fun, and I think the men enjoyed it.
Some of them were awfully perturbed at first at the prospect of
facing one thousand girls; but they got acclimated very quickly.
Our two Princeton men had a beautiful time--at least they politely
said they had, and they've invited us to their dance next spring.
We've accepted, so please don't object, Daddy dear.

Julia and Sallie and I all had new dresses. Do you want to hear
about them? Julia's was cream satin and gold embroidery and she
wore purple orchids. It was a DREAM and came from Paris, and cost
a million dollars.

Sallie's was pale blue trimmed with Persian embroidery, and went
beautifully with red hair. It didn't cost quite a million,
but was just as effective as Julia's.

Mine was pale pink crepe de chine trimmed with ecru lace and rose satin.
And I carried crimson roses which J. McB. sent (Sallie having told
him what colour to get). And we all had satin slippers and silk
stockings and chiffon scarfs to match.

You must be deeply impressed by these millinery details.

One can't help thinking, Daddy, what a colourless life a man is
forced to lead, when one reflects that chiffon and Venetian point
and hand embroidery and Irish crochet are to him mere empty words.
Whereas a woman--whether she is interested in babies or microbes
or husbands or poetry or servants or parallelograms or gardens or
Plato or bridge--is fundamentally and always interested in clothes.

It's the one touch of nature that makes the whole world kin.
(That isn't original. I got it out of one of Shakespeare's plays).

However, to resume. Do you want me to tell you a secret that I've
lately discovered? And will you promise not to think me vain?
Then listen:

I'm pretty.

I am, really. I'd be an awful idiot not to know it with three
looking-glasses in the room.
A Friend


PS. This is one of those wicked anonymous letters you read about
in novels.

20th December
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

I've just a moment, because I must attend two classes, pack a trunk
and a suit-case, and catch the four-o'clock train--but I couldn't
go without sending a word to let you know how much I appreciate
my Christmas box.

I love the furs and the necklace and the Liberty scarf and the gloves
and handkerchiefs and books and purse--and most of all I love you!
But Daddy, you have no business to spoil me this way. I'm only human--
and a girl at that. How can I keep my mind sternly fixed on a
studious career, when you deflect me with such worldly frivolities?

I have strong suspicions now as to which one of the John Grier
Trustees used to give the Christmas tree and the Sunday ice-cream.
He was nameless, but by his works I know him! You deserve to be
happy for all the good things you do.

Goodbye, and a very merry Christmas.
Yours always,
Judy


PS. I am sending a slight token, too. Do you think you would
like her if you knew her?


11th January

I meant to write to you from the city, Daddy, but New York
is an engrossing place.

I had an interesting--and illuminating--time, but I'm glad I don't
belong to such a family! I should truly rather have the John Grier
Home for a background. Whatever the drawbacks of my bringing up,
there was at least no pretence about it. I know now what people
mean when they say they are weighed down by Things. The material
atmosphere of that house was crushing; I didn't draw a deep breath
until I was on an express train coming back. All the furniture
was carved and upholstered and gorgeous; the people I met were
beautifully dressed and low-voiced and well-bred, but it's the truth,
Daddy, I never heard one word of real talk from the time we arrived
until we left. I don't think an idea ever entered the front door.

Mrs. Pendleton never thinks of anything but jewels and dressmakers
and social engagements. She did seem a different kind of mother from
Mrs. McBride! If I ever marry and have a family, I'm going to make them
as exactly like the McBrides as I can. Not for all the money in the
world would I ever let any children of mine develop into Pendletons.
Maybe it isn't polite to criticize people you've been visiting?
If it isn't, please excuse. This is very confidential, between you
and me.

I only saw Master Jervie once when he called at tea time,
and then I didn't have a chance to speak to him alone.
It was really disappointing after our nice time last summer.
I don't think he cares much for his relatives--and I am sure they
don't care much for him! Julia's mother says he's unbalanced.
He's a Socialist--except, thank Heaven, he doesn't let his hair grow
and wear red ties. She can't imagine where he picked up his queer ideas;
the family have been Church of England for generations. He throws
away his money on every sort of crazy reform, instead of spending it
on such sensible things as yachts and automobiles and polo ponies.
He does buy candy with it though! He sent Julia and me each a box
for Christmas.

You know, I think I'll be a Socialist, too. You wouldn't mind,
would you, Daddy? They're quite different from Anarchists;
they don't believe in blowing people up. Probably I am one by rights;
I belong to the proletariat. I haven't determined yet just which
kind I am going to be. I will look into the subject over Sunday,
and declare my principles in my next.

I've seen loads of theatres and hotels and beautiful houses.
My mind is a confused jumble of onyx and gilding and mosaic floors
and palms. I'm still pretty breathless but I am glad to get back
to college and my books--I believe that I really am a student;
this atmosphere of academic calm I find more bracing than New York.
College is a very satisfying sort of life; the books and study
and regular classes keep you alive mentally, and then when your
mind gets tired, you have the gymnasium and outdoor athletics,
and always plenty of congenial friends who are thinking about the
same things you are. We spend a whole evening in nothing but talk--
talk--talk--and go to bed with a very uplifted feeling, as though we
had settled permanently some pressing world problems. And filling
in every crevice, there is always such a lot of nonsense--just silly
jokes about the little things that come up but very satisfying.
We do appreciate our own witticisms!

It isn't the great big pleasures that count the most; it's making
a great deal out of the little ones--I've discovered the true
secret of happiness, Daddy, and that is to live in the now.
Not to be for ever regretting the past, or anticipating the future;
but to get the most that you can out of this very instant.
It's like farming. You can have extensive farming and intensive
farming; well, I am going to have intensive living after this.
I'm going to enjoy every second, and I'm going to KNOW I'm enjoying
it while I'm enjoying it. Most people don't live; they just race.
They are trying to reach some goal far away on the horizon, and in the
heat of the going they get so breathless and panting that they lose
all sight of the beautiful, tranquil country they are passing through;
and then the first thing they know, they are old and worn out,
and it doesn't make any difference whether they've reached the goal
or not. I've decided to sit down by the way and pile up a lot
of little happinesses, even if I never become a Great Author.
Did you ever know such a philosopheress as I am developing into?
Yours ever,
Judy

PS. It's raining cats and dogs tonight. Two puppies and a kitten
have just landed on the window-sill.

Dear Comrade,

Hooray! I'm a Fabian.

That's a Socialist who's willing to wait. We don't want the social
revolution to come tomorrow morning; it would be too upsetting.
We want it to come very gradually in the distant future, when we
shall all be prepared and able to sustain the shock.

In the meantime, we must be getting ready, by instituting industrial,
educational and orphan asylum reforms.
Yours, with fraternal love,
Judy
Monday, 3rd hour



11th February
Dear D.-L.-L.,

Don't be insulted because this is so short. It isn't a letter;
it's just a LINE to say that I'm going to write a letter pretty soon
when examinations are over. It is not only necessary that I pass,
but pass WELL. I have a scholarship to live up to.
Yours, studying hard,
J. A.


5th March
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

President Cuyler made a speech this evening about the modern
generation being flippant and superficial. He says that we are
losing the old ideals of earnest endeavour and true scholarship;
and particularly is this falling-off noticeable in our disrespectful
attitude towards organized authority. We no longer pay a seemly
deference to our superiors.

I came away from chapel very sober.

Am I too familiar, Daddy? Ought I to treat you with more dignity
and aloofness?--Yes, I'm sure I ought. I'll begin again.

My Dear Mr. Smith,

You will be pleased to hear that I passed successfully my mid-year
examinations, and am now commencing work in the new semester. I am
leaving chemistry--having completed the course in qualitative analysis--
and am entering upon the study of biology. I approach this subject with
some hesitation, as I understand that we dissect angleworms and frogs.

An extremely interesting and valuable lecture was given in the
chapel last week upon Roman Remains in Southern France. I have
never listened to a more illuminating exposition of the subject.

We are reading Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey in connection with our
course in English Literature. What an exquisite work it is,
and how adequately it embodies his conceptions of Pantheism!
The Romantic movement of the early part of the last century,
exemplified in the works of such poets as Shelley, Byron, Keats,
and Wordsworth, appeals to me very much more than the Classical
period that preceded it. Speaking of poetry, have you ever read
that charming little thing of Tennyson's called Locksley Hall?

I am attending gymnasium very regularly of late. A proctor
system has been devised, and failure to comply with the rules
causes a great deal of inconvenience. The gymnasium is equipped
with a very beautiful swimming tank of cement and marble, the gift
of a former graduate. My room-mate, Miss McBride, has given me
her bathing-suit (it shrank so that she can no longer wear it)
and I am about to begin swimming lessons.

We had delicious pink ice-cream for dessert last night.
Only vegetable dyes are used in colouring the food. The college
is very much opposed, both from aesthetic and hygienic motives,
to the use of aniline dyes.

The weather of late has been ideal--bright sunshine and clouds
interspersed with a few welcome snow-storms. I and my companions
have enjoyed our walks to and from classes--particularly from.

Trusting, my dear Mr. Smith, that this will find you in your usual
good health,
I remain,
Most cordially yours,
Jerusha Abbott


24th April
Dear Daddy,

Spring has come again! You should see how lovely the campus is.
I think you might come and look at it for yourself. Master Jervie
dropped in again last Friday--but he chose a most unpropitious time,
for Sallie and Julia and I were just running to catch a train.
And where do you think we were going? To Princeton, to attend a dance
and a ball game, if you please! I didn't ask you if I might go,
because I had a feeling that your secretary would say no. But it
was entirely regular; we had leave-of-absence from college, and Mrs.
McBride chaperoned us. We had a charming time--but I shall have to
omit details; they are too many and complicated.


Saturday

Up before dawn! The night watchman called us--six of us--and we
made coffee in a chafing dish (you never saw so many grounds!)
and walked two miles to the top of One Tree Hill to see the sun rise.
We had to scramble up the last slope! The sun almost beat us!
And perhaps you think we didn't bring back appetites to breakfast!

Dear me, Daddy, I seem to have a very ejaculatory style today;
this page is peppered with exclamations.

I meant to have written a lot about the budding trees and the new
cinder path in the athletic field, and the awful lesson we have in
biology for tomorrow, and the new canoes on the lake, and Catherine
Prentiss who has pneumonia, and Prexy's Angora kitten that strayed
from home and has been boarding in Fergussen Hall for two weeks
until a chambermaid reported it, and about my three new dresses--
white and pink and blue polka dots with a hat to match--but I am
too sleepy. I am always making this an excuse, am I not? But a girls'
college is a busy place and we do get tired by the end of the day!
Particularly when the day begins at dawn.
Affectionately,
Judy


15th May
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Is it good manners when you get into a car just to stare straight
ahead and not see anybody else?

A very beautiful lady in a very beautiful velvet dress got
into the car today, and without the slightest expression sat
for fifteen minutes and looked at a sign advertising suspenders.
It doesn't seem polite to ignore everybody else as though you
were the only important person present. Anyway, you miss a lot.
While she was absorbing that silly sign, I was studying a whole car
full of interesting human beings.

The accompanying illustration is hereby reproduced for the first time.
It looks like a spider on the end of a string, but it isn't at all;
it's a picture of me learning to swim in the tank in the gymnasium.

The instructor hooks a rope into a ring in the back of my belt, and runs
it through a pulley in the ceiling. It would be a beautiful system
if one had perfect confidence in the probity of one's instructor.
I'm always afraid, though, that she will let the rope get slack,
so I keep one anxious eye on her and swim with the other,
and with this divided interest I do not make the progress that I
otherwise might.

Very miscellaneous weather we're having of late. It was raining
when I commenced and now the sun is shining. Sallie and I are going
out to play tennis--thereby gaining exemption from Gym.


A week later

I should have finished this letter long ago, but I didn't. You
don't mind, do you, Daddy, if I'm not very regular? I really
do love to write to you; it gives me such a respectable feeling
of having some family. Would you like me to tell you something?
You are not the only man to whom I write letters. There are
two others! I have been receiving beautiful long letters this
winter from Master Jervie (with typewritten envelopes so Julia won't
recognize the writing). Did you ever hear anything so shocking?
And every week or so a very scrawly epistle, usually on yellow
tablet paper, arrives from Princeton. All of which I answer
with business-like promptness. So you see--I am not so different
from other girls--I get letters, too.

Did I tell you that I have been elected a member of the Senior
Dramatic Club? Very recherche organization. Only seventy-five
members out of one thousand. Do you think as a consistent Socialist
that I ought to belong?

What do you suppose is at present engaging my attention in sociology?
I am writing (figurez vous!) a paper on the Care of Dependent Children.
The Professor shuffled up his subjects and dealt them out promiscuously,
and that fell to me. C'est drole ca n'est pas?

There goes the gong for dinner. I'll post this as I pass the box.
Affectionately,
J.