You know, Daddy, I think that the most necessary quality for any person to have is imagination. It makes people able to put themselves in other people"s places. It makes them kind and sympathetic and understanding. It ought to be cultivated in children. But the John Grier Home instantly stamped out the slightest flicker that appeared.
Duty was the one quality that was encouraged. I don"t think children ought to know the meaning of the word; it"s odious, detestable. They ought to do everything from love.
Wait until you see the orphan asylum that I am going to be the head of!
It"s my favourite play at night before I go to sleep. I plan it out to the littlest detail--the meals and clothes and study and amus.e.m.e.nts and punishments; for even my superior orphans are sometimes bad.
But anyway, they are going to be happy. I think that every one, no matter how many troubles he may have when he grows up, ought to have a happy childhood to look back upon. And if I ever have any children of my own, no matter how unhappy I may be, I am not going to let them have any cares until they grow up.
(There goes the chapel bell--I"ll finish this letter sometime).
Thursday
When I came in from laboratory this afternoon, I found a squirrel sitting on the tea table helping himself to almonds. These are the kind of callers we entertain now that warm weather has come and the windows stay open--
Sat.u.r.day morning
Perhaps you think, last night being Friday, with no cla.s.ses today, that I pa.s.sed a nice quiet, readable evening with the set of Stevenson that I bought with my prize money? But if so, you"ve never attended a girls" college, Daddy dear. Six friends dropped in to make fudge, and one of them dropped the fudge--while it was still liquid--right in the middle of our best rug. We shall never be able to clean up the mess.
I haven"t mentioned any lessons of late; but we are still having them every day. It"s sort of a relief though, to get away from them and discuss life in the large--rather one-sided discussions that you and I hold, but that"s your own fault. You are welcome to answer back any time you choose.
I"ve been writing this letter off and on for three days, and I fear by now vous etes bien bored!
Goodbye, nice Mr. Man, Judy
Mr. Daddy-Long-Legs Smith,
SIR: Having completed the study of argumentation and the science of dividing a thesis into heads, I have decided to adopt the following form for letter-writing. It contains all necessary facts, but no unnecessary verbiage.
I. We had written examinations this week in: A. Chemistry.
B. History.
II. A new dormitory is being built.
A. Its material is: (a) red brick.
(b) grey stone.
B. Its capacity will be: (a) one dean, five instructors.
(b) two hundred girls.
(c) one housekeeper, three cooks, twenty waitresses, twenty chambermaids.
III. We had junket for dessert tonight.
IV. I am writing a special topic upon the Sources of Shakespeare"s Plays.
V. Lou McMahon slipped and fell this afternoon at basket ball, and she: A. Dislocated her shoulder.
B. Bruised her knee.
VI. I have a new hat trimmed with: A. Blue velvet ribbon.
B. Two blue quills.
C. Three red pompoms.
VII. It is half past nine.
VIII. Good night.
Judy
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, and 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.