24th July
Dearest Daddy-Long-Legs,
Isn't it fun to work--or don't you ever do it? It's especially funwhen your kind of work is the thing you'd rather do more than anythingelse in the world. I've been writing as fast as my pen would go everyday this summer, and my only quarrel with life is that the days aren'tlong enough to write all the beautiful and valuable and entertainingthoughts I'm thinking.
I've finished the second draft of my book and am going to begin thethird tomorrow morning at half-past seven. It's the sweetest book youever saw--it is, truly. I think of nothing else. I can barely wait inthe morning to dress and eat before beginning; then I write and writeand write till suddenly I'm so tired that I'm limp all over. Then I goout with Colin (the new sheep dog) and romp through the fields and geta fresh supply of ideas for the next day. It's the most beautiful bookyou ever saw--Oh, pardon--I said that before.
You don't think me conceited, do you, Daddy dear?
I'm not, really, only just now I'm in the enthusiastic stage. Maybelater on I'll get cold and critical and sniffy. No, I'm sure I won't!This time I've written a real book. Just wait till you see it.
I'll try for a minute to talk about something else. I never told you,did I, that Amasai and Carrie got married last May? They are stillworking here, but so far as I can see it has spoiled them both. Sheused to laugh when he tramped in mud or dropped ashes on the floor, butnow--you should hear her scold! And she doesn't curl her hair anylonger. Amasai, who used to be so obliging about beating rugs andcarrying wood, grumbles if you suggest such a thing. Also his necktiesare quite dingy--black and brown, where they used to be scarlet andpurple. I've determined never to marry. It's a deteriorating process,evidently.
There isn't much of any farm news. The animals are all in the best ofhealth. The pigs are unusually fat, the cows seem contented and thehens are laying well. Are you interested in poultry? If so, let merecommend that invaluable little work, 200 Eggs per Hen per Year. I amthinking of starting an incubator next spring and raising broilers.You see I'm settled at Lock Willow permanently. I have decided to stayuntil I've written 114 novels like Anthony Trollope's mother. Then Ishall have completed my life work and can retire and travel.
Mr. James McBride spent last Sunday with us. Fried chicken andice-cream for dinner, both of which he appeared to appreciate. I wasawfully glad to see him; he brought a momentary reminder that the worldat large exists. Poor Jimmie is having a hard time peddling his bonds.The 'Farmers' National' at the Corners wouldn't have anything to dowith them in spite of the fact that they pay six per cent. interestand sometimes seven. I think he'll end up by going home to Worcesterand taking a job in his father's factory. He's too open and confidingand kind-hearted ever to make a successful financier. But to be themanager of a flourishing overall factory is a very desirable position,don't you think? Just now he turns up his nose at overalls, but he'llcome to them.
I hope you appreciate the fact that this is a long letter from a personwith writer's cramp. But I still love you, Daddy dear, and I'm veryhappy. With beautiful scenery all about, and lots to eat and acomfortable four-post bed and a ream of blank paper and a pint ofink--what more does one want in the world?
Yours as always, Judy
PS. The postman arrives with some more news. We are to expect MasterJervie on Friday next to spend a week. That's a very pleasantprospect--only I am afraid my poor book will suffer. Master Jervie isvery demanding.