Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
There is a March wind blowing, and the sky is filled with heavy, blackmoving clouds. The crows in the pine trees are making such a clamour!It's an intoxicating, exhilarating, CALLING noise. You want to closeyour books and be off over the hills to race with the wind.
We had a paper chase last Saturday over five miles of squashy 'crosscountry. The fox (composed of three girls and a bushel or so ofconfetti) started half an hour before the twenty-seven hunters. I wasone of the twenty-seven; eight dropped by the wayside; we endednineteen. The trail led over a hill, through a cornfield, and into aswamp where we had to leap lightly from hummock to hummock. of coursehalf of us went in ankle deep. We kept losing the trail, and we wastedtwenty-five minutes over that swamp. Then up a hill through some woodsand in at a barn window! The barn doors were all locked and the windowwas up high and pretty small. I don't call that fair, do you?
But we didn't go through; we circumnavigated the barn and picked up thetrail where it issued by way of a low shed roof on to the top of afence. The fox thought he had us there, but we fooled him. Thenstraight away over two miles of rolling meadow, and awfully hard tofollow, for the confetti was getting sparse. The rule is that it mustbe at the most six feet apart, but they were the longest six feet Iever saw. Finally, after two hours of steady trotting, we trackedMonsieur Fox into the kitchen of Crystal Spring (that's a farm wherethe girls go in bob sleighs and hay wagons for chicken and wafflesuppers) and we found the three foxes placidly eating milk and honeyand biscuits. They hadn't thought we would get that far; they wereexpecting us to stick in the barn window.
Both sides insist that they won. I think we did, don't you? Becausewe caught them before they got back to the campus. Anyway, allnineteen of us settled like locusts over the furniture and clamouredfor honey. There wasn't enough to go round, but Mrs. Crystal Spring(that's our pet name for her; she's by rights a Johnson) brought up ajar of strawberry jam and a can of maple syrup--just made lastweek--and three loaves of brown bread.
We didn't get back to college till half-past six--half an hour late fordinner--and we went straight in without dressing, and with perfectlyunimpaired appetites! Then we all cut evening chapel, the state of ourboots being enough of an excuse.
I never told you about examinations. I passed everything with theutmost ease--I know the secret now, and am never going to fail again.I shan't be able to graduate with honours though, because of thatbeastly Latin prose and geometry Freshman year. But I don't care.Wot's the hodds so long as you're 'appy? (That's a quotation. I'vebeen reading the English classics.)
Speaking of classics, have you ever read Hamlet? If you haven't, do itright off. It's PERFECTLY CORKING. I've been hearing aboutShakespeare all my life, but I had no idea he really wrote so well; Ialways suspected him of going largely on his reputation.
I have a beautiful play that I invented a long time ago when I firstlearned to read. I put myself to sleep every night by pretending I'mthe person (the most important person) in the book I'm reading at themoment.
At present I'm Ophelia--and such a sensible Ophelia! I keep Hamletamused all the time, and pet him and scold him and make him wrap up histhroat when he has a cold. I've entirely cured him of beingmelancholy. The King and Queen are both dead--an accident at sea; nofuneral necessary--so Hamlet and I are ruling in Denmark without anybother. We have the kingdom working beautifully. He takes care of thegoverning, and I look after the charities. I have just founded somefirst-class orphan asylums. If you or any of the other Trustees wouldlike to visit them, I shall be pleased to show you through. I thinkyou might find a great many helpful suggestions.
I remain, sir, Yours most graciously, OPHELIA, Queen of Denmark.
24th March, maybe the 25th
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
I don't believe I can be going to Heaven--I am getting such a lot ofgood things here; it wouldn't be fair to get them hereafter too.Listen to what has happened.
Jerusha Abbott has won the short-story contest (a twenty-five dollarprize) that the Monthly holds every year. And she's a Sophomore! Thecontestants are mostly Seniors. When I saw my name posted, I couldn'tquite believe it was true. Maybe I am going to be an author after all.I wish Mrs. Lippett hadn't given me such a silly name--it sounds likean author-ess, doesn't it?
Also I have been chosen for the spring dramatics--As You Like It out ofdoors. I am going to be Celia, own cousin to Rosalind.
And lastly: Julia and Sallie and I are going to New York next Fridayto do some spring shopping and stay all night and go to the theatre thenext day with 'Master Jervie.' He invited us. Julia is going to stayat home with her family, but Sallie and I are going to stop at theMartha Washington Hotel. Did you ever hear of anything so exciting?I've never been in a hotel in my life, nor in a theatre; except oncewhen the Catholic Church had a festival and invited the orphans, butthat wasn't a real play and it doesn't count.
And what do you think we're going to see? Hamlet. Think of that! Westudied it for four weeks in Shakespeare class and I know it by heart.
I am so excited over all these prospects that I can scarcely sleep.
Goodbye, Daddy.
This is a very entertaining world.
Yours ever, Judy
PS. I've just looked at the calendar. It's the 28th.
Another postscript.
I saw a street car conductor today with one brown eye and one blue.Wouldn't he make a nice villain for a detective story?
7th April
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Mercy! Isn't New York big? Worcester is nothing to it. Do you meanto tell me that you actually live in all that confusion? I don'tbelieve that I shall recover for months from the bewildering effect oftwo days of it. I can't begin to tell you all the amazing things I'veseen; I suppose you know, though, since you live there yourself.
But aren't the streets entertaining? And the people? And the shops?I never saw such lovely things as there are in the windows. It makesyou want to devote your life to wearing clothes.
Sallie and Julia and I went shopping together Saturday morning. Juliawent into the very most gorgeous place I ever saw, white and gold wallsand blue carpets and blue silk curtains and gilt chairs. A perfectlybeautiful lady with yellow hair and a long black silk trailing gowncame to meet us with a welcoming smile. I thought we were paying asocial call, and started to shake hands, but it seems we were onlybuying hats--at least Julia was. She sat down in front of a mirror andtried on a dozen, each lovelier than the last, and bought the twoloveliest of all.
I can't imagine any joy in life greater than sitting down in front of amirror and buying any hat you choose without having first to considerthe price! There's no doubt about it, Daddy; New York would rapidlyundermine this fine stoical character which the John Grier Home sopatiently built up.
And after we'd finished our shopping, we met Master Jervie at Sherry's.I suppose you've been in Sherry's? Picture that, then picture thedining-room of the John Grier Home with its oilcloth-covered tables,and white crockery that you CAN'T break, and wooden-handled knives andforks; and fancy the way I felt!
I ate my fish with the wrong fork, but the waiter very kindly gave meanother so that nobody noticed.
And after luncheon we went to the theatre--it was dazzling, marvellous,unbelievable--I dream about it every night.
Isn't Shakespeare wonderful?
Hamlet is so much better on the stage than when we analyze it in class;I appreciated it before, but now, dear me!
I think, if you don't mind, that I'd rather be an actress than awriter. Wouldn't you like me to leave college and go into a dramaticschool? And then I'll sen
d you a box for all my performances, andsmile at you across the footlights. Only wear a red rose in yourbuttonhole, please, so I'll surely smile at the right man. It would bean awfully embarrassing mistake if I picked out the wrong one.
We came back Saturday night and had our dinner in the train, at littletables with pink lamps and negro waiters. I never heard of meals beingserved in trains before, and I inadvertently said so.
'Where on earth were you brought up?' said Julia to me.
'In a village,' said I meekly, to Julia.
'But didn't you ever travel?' said she to me.
'Not till I came to college, and then it was only a hundred and sixtymiles and we didn't eat,' said I to her.
She's getting quite interested in me, because I say such funny things.I try hard not to, but they do pop out when I'm surprised--and I'msurprised most of the time. It's a dizzying experience, Daddy, to passeighteen years in the John Grier Home, and then suddenly to be plungedinto the WORLD.
But I'm getting acclimated. I don't make such awful mistakes as I did;and I don't feel uncomfortable any more with the other girls. I usedto squirm whenever people looked at me. I felt as though they sawright through my sham new clothes to the checked ginghams underneath.But I'm not letting the ginghams bother me any more. Sufficient untoyesterday is the evil thereof.
I forgot to tell you about our flowers. Master Jervie gave us each abig bunch of violets and lilies-of-the-valley. Wasn't that sweet ofhim? I never used to care much for men--judging by Trustees--but I'mchanging my mind.
Eleven pages--this is a letter! Have courage. I'm going to stop.
Yours always, Judy
10th April
Dear Mr. Rich-Man,
Here's your cheque for fifty dollars. Thank you very much, but I donot feel that I can keep it. My allowance is sufficient to afford allof the hats that I need. I am sorry that I wrote all that silly stuffabout the millinery shop; it's just that I had never seen anything likeit before.
However, I wasn't begging! And I would rather not accept any morecharity than I have to.
Sincerely yours, Jerusha Abbott
11th April
Dearest Daddy,
Will you please forgive me for the letter I wrote you yesterday? AfterI posted it I was sorry, and tried to get it back, but that beastlymail clerk wouldn't give it back to me.
It's the middle of the night now; I've been awake for hours thinkingwhat a Worm I am--what a Thousand-legged Worm--and that's the worst Ican say! I've closed the door very softly into the study so as not towake Julia and Sallie, and am sitting up in bed writing to you on papertorn out of my history note-book.
I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry I was so impolite about yourcheque. I know you meant it kindly, and I think you're an old dear totake so much trouble for such a silly thing as a hat. I ought to havereturned it very much more graciously.
But in any case, I had to return it. It's different with me than withother girls. They can take things naturally from people. They havefathers and brothers and aunts and uncles; but I can't be on any suchrelations with any one. I like to pretend that you belong to me, justto play with the idea, but of course I know you don't. I'm alone,really--with my back to the wall fighting the world--and I get sort ofgaspy when I think about it. I put it out of my mind, and keep onpretending; but don't you see, Daddy? I can't accept any more moneythan I have to, because some day I shall be wanting to pay it back, andeven as great an author as I intend to be won't be able to face aPERFECTLY TREMENDOUS debt.
I'd love pretty hats and things, but I mustn't mortgage the future topay for them.
You'll forgive me, won't you, for being so rude? I have an awful habitof writing impulsively when I first think things, and then posting theletter beyond recall. But if I sometimes seem thoughtless andungrateful, I never mean it. In my heart I thank you always for thelife and freedom and independence that you have given me. My childhoodwas just a long, sullen stretch of revolt, and now I am so happy everymoment of the day that I can't believe it's true. I feel like amade-up heroine in a story-book.
It's a quarter past two. I'm going to tiptoe out to post this off now.You'll receive it in the next mail after the other; so you won't have avery long time to think bad of me.
Good night, Daddy, I love you always, Judy
4th May
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Field Day last Saturday. It was a very spectacular occasion. First wehad a parade of all the classes, with everybody dressed in white linen,the Seniors carrying blue and gold Japanese umbrellas, and the juniorswhite and yellow banners. Our class had crimson balloons--veryfetching, especially as they were always getting loose and floatingoff--and the Freshmen wore green tissue-paper hats with long streamers.Also we had a band in blue uniforms hired from town. Also about adozen funny people, like clowns in a circus, to keep the spectatorsentertained between events.
Julia was dressed as a fat country man with a linen duster and whiskersand baggy umbrella. Patsy Moriarty (Patrici really. Did you ever hearsuch a name? Mrs. Lippett couldn't have done better) who is tall andthin was Julia's wife in a absurd green bonnet over one ear. Waves oflaughter followed them the whole length of the course. Julia playedthe part extremely well. I never dreamed that a Pendleton coulddisplay so much comedy spirit--begging Master Jervie's pardon; I don'tconsider him a true Pendleton though, any more than I consider you atrue Trustee.
Sallie and I weren't in the parade because we were entered for theevents. And what do you think? We both won! At least in something.We tried for the running broad jump and lost; but Sallie won thepole-vaulting (seven feet three inches) and I won the fifty-yard sprint(eight seconds).
I was pretty panting at the end, but it was great fun, with the wholeclass waving balloons and cheering and yelling:
What's the matter with Judy Abbott? She's all right. Who's all right? Judy Ab-bott!
That, Daddy, is true fame. Then trotting back to the dressing tent andbeing rubbed down with alcohol and having a lemon to suck. You seewe're very professional. It's a fine thing to win an event for yourclass, because the class that wins the most gets the athletic cup forthe year. The Seniors won it this year, with seven events to theircredit. The athletic association gave a dinner in the gymnasium to allof the winners. We had fried soft-shell crabs, and chocolate ice-creammoulded in the shape of basket balls.
I sat up half of last night reading Jane Eyre. Are you old enough,Daddy, to remember sixty years ago? And, if so, did people talk thatway?
The haughty Lady Blanche says to the footman, 'Stop your chattering,knave, and do my bidding.' Mr. Rochester talks about the metal welkinwhen he means the sky; and as for the mad woman who laughs like a hyenaand sets fire to bed curtains and tears up wedding veils andBITES--it's melodrama of the purest, but just the same, you read andread and read. I can't see how any girl could have written such abook, especially any girl who was brought up in a churchyard. There'ssomething about those Brontes that fascinates me. Their books, theirlives, their spirit. Where did they get it? When I was reading aboutlittle Jane's troubles in the charity school, I got so angry that I hadto go out and take a walk. I understood exactly how she felt. Havingknown Mrs. Lippett, I could see Mr. Brocklehurst.
Don't be outraged, Daddy. I am not intimating that the John Grier Homewas like the Lowood Institute. We had plenty to eat and plenty towear, sufficient water to wash in, and a furnace in the cellar. Butthere was one deadly likeness. Our lives were absolutely monotonousand uneventful. Nothing nice ever happened, except ice-cream onSundays, and even that was regular. In all
the eighteen years I wasthere I only had one adventure--when the woodshed burned. We had toget up in the night and dress so as to be ready in case the houseshould catch. But it didn't catch and we went back to bed.
Everybody likes a few surprises; it's a perfectly natural humancraving. But I never had one until Mrs. Lippett called me to theoffice to tell me that Mr. John Smith was going to send me to college.And then she broke the news so gradually that it just barely shocked me.
You know, Daddy, I think that the most necessary quality for any personto have is imagination. It makes people able to put themselves inother people's places. It makes them kind and sympathetic andunderstanding. It ought to be cultivated in children. But the JohnGrier Home instantly stamped out the slightest flicker that appeared.Duty was the one quality that was encouraged. I don't think childrenought to know the meaning of the word; it's odious, detestable. Theyought 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 tothe littlest detail--the meals and clothes and study and amusements andpunishments; for even my superior orphans are sometimes bad.
But anyway, they are going to be happy. I think that every one, nomatter how many troubles he may have when he grows up, ought to have ahappy childhood to look back upon. And if I ever have any children ofmy own, no matter how unhappy I may be, I am not going to let them haveany cares until they grow up.
(There goes the chapel bell--I'll finish this letter sometime).