LOCK WILLOW, 4th April
Dear Daddy,
Do you observe the postmark? Sallie and I are embellishing Lock Willowwith our presence during the Easter Vacation. We decided that the bestthing we could do with our ten days was to come where it is quiet. Ournerves had got to the point where they wouldn't stand another meal inFergussen. Dining in a room with four hundred girls is an ordeal whenyou are tired. There is so much noise that you can't hear the girlsacross the table speak unless they make their hands into a megaphoneand shout. That is the truth.
We are tramping over the hills and reading and writing, and having anice, restful time. We climbed to the top of 'Sky Hill' this morningwhere Master Jervie and I once cooked supper--it doesn't seem possiblethat it was nearly two years ago. I could still see the place wherethe smoke of our fire blackened the rock. It is funny how certainplaces get connected with certain people, and you never go back withoutthinking of them. I was quite lonely without him--for two minutes.
What do you think is my latest activity, Daddy? You will begin tobelieve that I am incorrigible--I am writing a book. I started itthree 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 convincingwhen you write about the things you know. And this time it is aboutsomething that I do know--exhaustively. Guess where it's laid? In theJohn Grier Home! And it's good, Daddy, I actually believe it is--justabout the tiny little things that happened every day. I'm a realistnow. 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 seeif 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 aletter 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 wroughtup.
Poor old Grove is dead. He got so that he couldn't chew and they hadto 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 outfrom Bonnyrigg Four Corners. Amasai stayed up all night to give herlinseed oil and whisky. But we have an awful suspicion that the poorsick cow got nothing but linseed oil.
Sentimental Tommy (the tortoise-shell cat) has disappeared; we areafraid he has been caught in a trap.
There are lots of troubles in the world!