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).
Thursday
When I came in from laboratory this afternoon, I found a squirrelsitting on the tea table helping himself to almonds. These are thekind of callers we entertain now that warm weather has come and thewindows stay open--
Saturday morning
Perhaps you think, last night being Friday, with no classes today, thatI passed a nice quiet, readable evening with the set of Stevenson thatI bought with my prize money? But if so, you've never attended agirls' college, Daddy dear. Six friends dropped in to make fudge, andone of them dropped the fudge--while it was still liquid--right in themiddle 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 themevery day. It's sort of a relief though, to get away from them anddiscuss life in the large--rather one-sided discussions that you and Ihold, but that's your own fault. You are welcome to answer back anytime you choose.
I've been writing this letter off and on for three days, and I fear bynow vous etes bien bored!
Goodbye, nice Mr. Man, Judy