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.
4th June
Dear Daddy,
Very busy time--commencement in ten days,
examinations tomorrow;
lots of studying, lots of packing, and
the outdoor world so lovely
that it hurts you to stay inside.
But never mind, vacation's coming. Julia
is going abroad this summer--
it makes the fourth time. No doubt about
it, Daddy, goods are not
distributed evenly. Sallie, as usual,
goes to the Adirondacks.
And what do you think I am going to do?
You may have three guesses.
Lock Willow? Wrong. The Adirondacks with
Sallie? Wrong.
(I'll never attempt that again; I was
discouraged last year.)
Can't you guess anything else? You're not
very inventive.
I'll tell you, Daddy, if you'll promise
not to make a lot of objections.
I warn your secretary in advance that my
mind is made up.
I am going to spend the summer at the
seaside with a Mrs. Charles
Paterson and tutor her daughter who is to
enter college in the autumn.
I met her through the McBrides, and she
is a very charming woman.
I am to give lessons in English and Latin
to the younger daughter,
too, but I shall have a little time to
myself, and I shall be earning
fifty dollars a month! Doesn't that
impress you as a perfectly
exorbitant amount? She offered it; I
should have blushed to ask
for more than twenty-five.
I finish at Magnolia (that's where she
lives) the first of September,
and shall probably spend the remaining
three weeks at Lock Willow--
I should like to see the Semples again
and all the friendly animals.
How does my programme strike you, Daddy?
I am getting quite independent, you see.
You have put me on my feet and I think I
can almost walk alone by now.
Princeton commencement and our
examinations exactly coincide--
which is an awful blow. Sallie and I did
so want to get away in time
for it, but of course that is utterly
impossible.
Goodbye, Daddy. Have a nice summer and
come back in the autumn
rested and ready for another year of
work. (That's what you ought
to be writing to me!) I haven't any idea
what you do in the summer,
or how you amuse yourself. I can't
visualize your surroundings.
Do you play golf or hunt or ride
horseback or just sit in the sun
and meditate?
Anyway, whatever it is, have a good time
and don't forget Judy.
10th June
Dear Daddy,
This is the hardest letter I ever wrote,
but I have decided
what I must do, and there isn't going to
be any turning back.
It is very sweet and generous and dear of
you to wish to send me
to Europe this summer--for the moment I
was intoxicated by the idea;
but sober second thoughts said no. It
would be rather illogical of me
to refuse to take your money for college,
and then use it instead
just for amusement! You mustn't get me
used to too many luxuries.
One doesn't miss what one has never had;
but it's awfully hard
going without things after one has
commenced thinking they are his--
hers (English language needs another
pronoun) by natural right.
Living with Sallie and Julia is an awful
strain on my stoical philosophy.
They have both had things from the time
they were babies;
they accept happiness as a matter of
course. The World, they think,
owes them everything they want. Maybe the
World does--in any case,
it seems to acknowledge the debt and pay
up. But as for me,
it owes me nothing, and distinctly told
me so in the beginning.
I have no right to borrow on credit, for
there will come a time when the
World will repudiate my claim.
I seem to be floundering in a sea of
metaphor--but I hope you
grasp my meaning? Anyway, I have a very
strong feeling that the
only honest thing for me to do is to
teach this summer and begin
to support myself.
MAGNOLIA,
Four days later
I'd got just that much written,
when--what do you think happened?
The maid arrived with Master Jervie's
card. He is going abroad
too this summer; not with Julia and her
family, but entirely by
himself I told him that you had invited
me to go with a lady who is
chaperoning a party of girls. He knows
about you, Daddy. That is,
he knows that my father and mother are
dead, and that a kind gentleman
is sending me to college; I simply didn't
have the courage to tell
him about the John Grier Home and all the
rest. He thinks that you
are my guardian and a perfectly
legitimate old family friend.
I have never told him that I didn't know
you--that would seem
too queer!
Anyway, he insisted on my going to
Europe. He said that it
was a necessary part of my education and
that I mustn't think
of refusing. Also, that he would be in
Paris at the same time,
and that we would run away from the
chaperon occasionally
and have dinner together at nice, funny,
foreign restaurants.
Well, Daddy, it did appeal to me! I
almost weakened; if he hadn't
been so dictatorial, maybe I should have
entirely weakened.
I can be enticed step by step, but I
WON'T be forced. He said I
was a silly, foolish, irrational,
quixotic, idiotic, stubborn child
(those are a few of his abusive
adjectives; the rest escape me),
and that I didn't know what was good for
me; I ought to let older
people judge. We almost quarrelled--I am
not sure but that we
entirely did!
In any case, I packed my trunk fast and
came up here. I thought
I'd better see my bridges in flames
behind me before I finished
writing to you. They are entirely reduced
to ashes now.
Here I am at Cliff Top (the name of Mrs.
Paterson's cottage) with my
trunk unpacked and Florence (the little
one) already struggling
with first declension nouns. And it bids
fair to be a struggle!
She is a most uncommonly spoiled child; I
shall have to teach
her first how to study--she has never in
her life concentrated
on anything more difficult than ice-cream
soda water.
We use a quiet corner of the cliffs for a
schoolroom--Mrs. Paterson wishes
me to keep them out of doors--and I will
say that I find it difficult
to concentrate with the blue sea before
me and ships a-sailing by!
And when I think I might be on one,
sailing off to foreign lands--
but I WON'T let myself think of anything
but Latin Grammar.
The prepositions a or ab, absque, coram,
cum, de e or ex,
prae, pro, sine, tenus, in, subter, sub
and super govern the ablative.
So you see, Daddy, I am already plunged
into work with my eyes
persistently set against temptation.
Don't be cross with me,
please, and don't think that I do not
appreciate your kindness,
for I do--always--always. The only way I
can ever repay you
is by turning out a Very Useful Citizen
(Are women citizens?
I don't suppose they are.) Anyway, a Very
Useful Person. And when you
look at me you can say, `I gave that Very
Useful Person to the world.'
That sounds well, doesn't it, Daddy? But
I don't wish to mislead you.
The feeling often comes over me that I am
not at all remarkable;
it is fun to plan a career, but in all
probability I shan't turn
out a bit different from any other
ordinary person. I may end by
marrying an undertaker and being an
inspiration to him in his work.
Yours ever,
Judy
19th August
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
My window looks out on the loveliest
landscape--ocean-scape, rather--
nothing but water and rocks.
The summer goes. I spend the morning with
Latin and English
and algebra and my two stupid girls. I
don't know how Marion is
ever going to get into college, or stay
in after she gets there.
And as for Florence, she is hopeless--but
oh! such a little beauty.
I don't suppose it matters in the least
whether they are stupid
or not so long as they are pretty? One
can't help thinking, though,
how their conversation will bore their
husbands, unless they
are fortunate enough to obtain stupid
husbands. I suppose that's
quite possible; the world seems to be
filled with stupid men;
I've met a number this summer.
In the afternoon we take a walk on the
cliffs, or swim, if the tide
is right. I can swim in salt water with
the utmost ease you see
my education is already being put to use!
A letter comes from Mr. Jervis Pendleton
in Paris, rather a short
concise letter; I'm not quite forgiven
yet for refusing to follow
his advice. However, if he gets back in
time, he will see me
for a few days at Lock Willow before
college opens, and if I
am very nice and sweet and docile, I
shall (I am led to infer)
be received into favour again.
Also a letter from Sallie. She wants me
to come to their camp
for two weeks in September. Must I ask
your permission, or haven't
I yet arrived at the place where I can do
as I please? Yes, I am
sure I have--I'm a Senior, you know.
Having worked all summer,
I feel like taking a little healthful
recreation; I want to see
the Adirondacks; I want to see Sallie; I
want to see Sallie's brother--
he's going to teach me to canoe--and (we
come to my chief motive,
which is mean) I want Master Jervie to
arrive at Lock Willow and find
me not there.
I MUST show him that he can't dictate to
me. No one can dictate
to me but you, Daddy--and you can't
always! I'm off for the woods.
