been the Golden Age of husbands. Isn't this a touching entry?
You see he really was honest. `Today came home my fine Camlett
cloak with gold buttons, which cost me much money, and I pray God
to make me able to pay for it.'
Excuse me for being so full of Pepys; I'm writing a special topic
on him.
What do you think, Daddy? The Self-Government Association has
abolished the ten o'clock rule. We can keep our lights all night
if we choose, the only requirement being that we do not disturb others--
we are not supposed to entertain on a large scale. The result is a
beautiful commentary on human nature. Now that we may stay up as long
as we choose, we no longer choose. Our heads begin to nod at nine
o'clock, and by nine-thirty the pen drops from our nerveless grasp.
It's nine-thirty now. Good night.
Sunday
Just back from church--preacher from Georgia. We must take care, he says,
not to develop our intellects at the expense of our emotional natures--
but methought it was a poor, dry sermon (Pepys again). It doesn't
matter what part of the United States or Canada they come from,
or what denomination they are, we always get the same sermon.
Why on earth don't they go to men's colleges and urge the students
not to allow their manly natures to be crushed out by too much
mental application?
It's a beautiful day--frozen and icy and clear. As soon as dinner
is over, Sallie and Julia and Marty Keene and Eleanor Pratt (friends
of mine, but you don't know them) and I are going to put on short
skirts and walk 'cross country to Crystal Spring Farm and have a fried
chicken and waffle supper, and then have Mr. Crystal Spring drive
us home in his buckboard. We are supposed to be inside the campus
at seven, but we are going to stretch a point tonight and make it eight.
Farewell, kind Sir.
I have the honour of subscribing myself,
Your most loyall, dutifull, faithfull and obedient
servant,
J. Abbott
March Fifth
Dear Mr. Trustee,
Tomorrow is the first Wednesday in the month--a weary day for the
John Grier Home. How relieved they'll be when five o'clock comes
and you pat them on the head and take yourselves off! Did you
(individually) ever pat me on the head, Daddy? I don't believe so--
my memory seems to be concerned only with fat Trustees.
Give the Home my love, please--my TRULY love. I have quite a feeling
of tenderness for it as I look back through a haze of four years.
When I first came to college I felt quite resentful because I'd
been robbed of the normal kind of childhood that the other girls
had had; but now, I don't feel that way in the least. I regard it
as a very unusual adventure. It gives me a sort of vantage point
from which to stand aside and look at life. Emerging full grown,
I get a perspective on the world, that other people who have been
brought up in the thick of things entirely lack.
I know lots of girls (Julia, for instance) who never know that they
are happy. They are so accustomed to the feeling that their senses
are deadened to it; but as for me--I am perfectly sure every moment
of my life that I am happy. And I'm going to keep on being,
no matter what unpleasant things turn up. I'm going to regard them
(even toothaches) as interesting experiences, and be glad to know what
they feel like. `Whatever sky's above me, I've a heart for any fate.'
However, Daddy, don't take this new affection for the J.G.H.
too literally. If I have five children, like Rousseau, I shan't
leave them on the steps of a foundling asylum in order to insure
their being brought up simply.
Give my kindest regards to Mrs. Lippett (that, I think, is truthful;
love would be a little strong) and don't forget to tell her what a
beautiful nature I've developed.
Affectionately,
Judy
LOCK WILLOW,
4th April
Dear Daddy,
Do you observe the postmark? Sallie and I are embellishing
Lock Willow with our presence during the Easter Vacation.
We decided that the best thing we could do with our ten days
was to come where it is quiet. Our nerves had got to the point
where they wouldn't stand another meal in Fergussen. Dining in
a room with four hundred girls is an ordeal when you are tired.
There is so much noise that you can't hear the girls across the table
speak unless they make their hands into a megaphone and shout.
That is the truth.
We are tramping over the hills and reading and writing, and having
a nice, restful time. We climbed to the top of `Sky Hill'
this morning where Master Jervie and I once cooked supper--
it doesn't seem possible that it was nearly two years ago. I could
still see the place where the smoke of our fire blackened the rock.
It is funny how certain places get connected with certain people,
and you never go back without thinking of them. I was quite lonely
without him--for two minutes.
What do you think is my latest activity, Daddy? You will begin
to believe that I am incorrigible--I am writing a book. I started it
three weeks ago and am eating it up in chunks. I've caught the secret.
Master Jervie and that editor man were right; you are most convincing
when you write about the things you know. And this time it is about
something that I do know--exhaustively. Guess where it's laid?
In the John Grier Home! And it's good, Daddy, I actually believe
it is--just about the tiny little things that happened every day.
I'm a realist now. I've abandoned romanticism; I shall go back to it
later though, when my own adventurous future begins.
This new book is going to get itself finished--and published!
You see if it doesn't. If you just want a thing hard enough and keep
on trying, you do get it in the end. I've been trying for four years
to get a letter from you--and I haven't given up hope yet.
Goodbye, Daddy dear,
(I like to call you Daddy dear; it's so alliterative.)
Affectionately,
Judy
PS. I forgot to tell you the farm news, but it's very distressing.
Skip this postscript if you don't want your sensibilities all
wrought up.
Poor old Grove is dead. He got so that he couldn't chew and they
had to shoot him.
Nine chickens were killed by a weasel or a skunk or a rat last week.
One of the cows is sick, and we had to have the veterinary surgeon
out from Bonnyrigg Four Corners. Amasai stayed up all night to
give her linseed oil and whisky. But we have an awful suspicion
that the poor sick cow got nothing but linseed oil.
Sentimental Tommy (the tortoise-shell cat) has disappeared;
we are afraid he has been caught in a trap.
There are lots of troubles in the world!
17th May
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
This is going to be extremely short because my shoulder aches at the
sight of a pen. Lecture notes all day, immortal novel all evening,
make too much writing.
Commencement three weeks from next Wednesday. I think you might come
and make my acquaintance--I shall hate you if you don't! Julia's
inviting Master Jervie, he being her family, and Sallie's inviting
Jimmie McB., he being her family, but who is there for me to invite?
Just you and Lippett, and I don't want her. Please come.
Yours, with love and writer's cramp.
Judy
LOCK WILLOW,
19th June
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
I'm educated! My diploma is in the bottom bureau drawer with my
two best dresses. Commencement was as usual, with a few showers
at vital moments. Thank you for your rosebuds. They were lovely.
Master Jervie and Master Jimmie both gave me roses, too, but I left
theirs in the bath tub and carried yours in the class procession.
Here I am at Lock Willow for the summer--for ever maybe. The board
is cheap; the surroundings quiet and conducive to a literary life.
What more does a struggling author wish? I am mad about my book.
I think of it every waking moment, and dream of it at night. All I
want is peace and quiet and lots of time to work (interspersed with
nourishing meals).
Master Jervie is coming up for a week or so in August, and Jimmie
McBride is going to drop in sometime through the summer.
He's connected with a bond house now, and goes about the country
selling bonds to banks. He's going to combine the `Farmers' National'
at the Corners and me on the same trip.
You see that Lock Willow isn't entirely lacking in society.
I'd be expecting to have you come motoring through--only I know now
that that is hopeless. When you wouldn't come to my commencement,
I tore you from my heart and buried you for ever.
Judy Abbott, A.B.
24th July
Dearest Daddy-Long-Legs,
Isn't it fun to work--or don't you ever do it? It's especially
fun when your kind of work is the thing you'd rather do more than
anything else in the world. I've been writing as fast as my pen
would go every day this summer, and my only quarrel with life
is that the days aren't long enough to write all the beautiful
and valuable and entertaining thoughts I'm thinking.
I've finished the second draft of my book and am going to begin
the third tomorrow morning at half-past seven. It's the sweetest
book you ever saw--it is, truly. I think of nothing else.
I can barely wait in the morning to dress and eat before beginning;
then I write and write and write till suddenly I'm so tired that I'm
limp all over. Then I go out with Colin (the new sheep dog) and romp
through the fields and get a fresh supply of ideas for the next day.
It's the most beautiful book you ever saw--Oh, pardon--I said
that before.
You don't think me conceited, do you, Daddy dear?
I'm not, really, only just now I'm in the enthusiastic stage.
Maybe later on I'll get cold and critical and sniffy. No, I'm sure
I won't! This time I've written a real book. Just wait till you
see it.
I'll try for a minute to talk about something else. I never told you,
did I, that Amasai and Carrie got married last May? They are still
working here, but so far as I can see it has spoiled them both.
She used to laugh when he tramped in mud or dropped ashes on the floor,
but now--you should hear her scold! And she doesn't curl her hair
any longer. Amasai, who used to be so obliging about beating
rugs and carrying wood, grumbles if you suggest such a thing.
Also his neckties are quite dingy--black and brown, where they
used to be scarlet and purple. I've determined never to marry.
It's a deteriorating process, evidently.
There isn't much of any farm news. The animals are all in the best
of health. The pigs are unusually fat, the cows seem contented
and the hens are laying well. Are you interested in poultry?
If so, let me recommend that invaluable little work, 200 Eggs per
Hen per Year. I am thinking of starting an incubator next spring
and raising broilers. You see I'm settled at Lock Willow permanently.
I have decided to stay until I've written 114 novels like Anthony
Trollope's mother. Then I shall have completed my life work and can
retire and travel.
Mr. James McBride spent last Sunday with us. Fried chicken and ice-cream
for dinner, both of which he appeared to appreciate. I was awfully
glad to see him; he brought a momentary reminder that the world at
large exists. Poor Jimmie is having a hard time peddling his bonds.
The `Farmers' National' at the Corners wouldn't have anything
to do with them in spite of the fact that they pay six per cent.
interest and sometimes seven. I think he'll end up by going home
to Worcester and taking a job in his father's factory. He's too open
and confiding and kind-hearted ever to make a successful financier.
But to be the manager of a flourishing overall factory is a very
desirable position, don't you think? Just now he turns up his nose
at overalls, but he'll come to them.
I hope you appreciate the fact that this is a long letter from
a person with writer's cramp. But I still love you, Daddy dear,
and I'm very happy. With beautiful scenery all about, and lots
to eat and a comfortable four-post bed and a ream of blank paper
and a pint of ink--what more does one want in the world?
Yours as always,
Judy
PS. The postman arrives with some more news. We are to expect
Master Jervie on Friday next to spend a week. That's a very
pleasant prospect--only I am afraid my poor book will suffer.
Master Jervie is very demanding.
27th August
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Where are you, I wonder?
I never know what part of the world you are in, but I hope you're
not in New York during this awful weather. I hope you're on a
mountain peak (but not in Switzerland; somewhere nearer) looking at
the snow and thinking about me. Please be thinking about me.
I'm quite lonely and I want to be thought about. Oh, Daddy, I wish
I knew you! Then when we were unhappy we could cheer each other up.
I don't think I can stand much more of Lock Willow. I'm thinking
of moving. Sallie is going to do settlement work in Boston
next winter. Don't you think it would be nice for me to go with her,
then we could have a studio together? I would write while she
SETTLED and we could be together in the evenings. Evenings are
very long when there's no one but the Semples and Carrie and Amasai
to talk to. I know in advance that you won't like my studio idea.
I can read your secretary's letter now:
`Miss Jerusha Abbott.
`DEAR MADAM,
`Mr. Smith prefers that you remain at Lock Willow.
`Yours truly,
`ELMER H. GRIGGS.'
I hate your secretary. I am certain that a man named Elmer H.
Griggs must be horrid. But truly, Daddy, I think I shall have to go
to Boston. I can't stay here. If something doesn't happen soon,
I shall throw myself into the silo pit out of sheer desperation.
Mercy! but it's hot. All the grass is burnt up and the brooks are
