Daddy-Long-Legs, Page 4

  Did you ever hear of such a discouraging series of events? It isn'tthe big troubles in life that require character. Anybody can rise to acrisis and face a crushing tragedy with courage, but to meet the pettyhazards of the day with a laugh--I really think that requires SPIRIT.

  It's the kind of character that I am going to develop. I am going topretend that all life is just a game which I must play as skilfully andfairly as I can. If I lose, I am going to shrug my shoulders andlaugh--also if I win.

  Anyway, I am going to be a sport. You will never hear me complainagain, Daddy dear, because Julia wears silk stockings and centipedesdrop off the wall.

  Yours ever, Judy

  Answer soon.

  27th May

  Daddy-Long-Legs, Esq.

  DEAR SIR: I am in receipt of a letter from Mrs. Lippett. She hopesthat I am doing well in deportment and studies. Since I probably haveno place to go this summer, she will let me come back to the asylum andwork for my board until college opens.

  I HATE THE JOHN GRIER HOME.

  I'd rather die than go back.

  Yours most truthfully, Jerusha Abbott

  Cher Daddy-Jambes-Longes,

  Vous etes un brick!

  Je suis tres heureuse about the farm, parceque je n'ai jamais been on afarm dans ma vie and I'd hate to retourner chez John Grier, et washdishes tout l'ete. There would be danger of quelque chose affreusehappening, parceque j'ai perdue ma humilite d'autre fois et j'ai peurthat I would just break out quelque jour et smash every cup and saucerdans la maison.

  Pardon brievete et paper. Je ne peux pas send des mes nouvellesparceque je suis dans French class et j'ai peur que Monsieur leProfesseur is going to call on me tout de suite.

  He did!

  Au revoir, je vous aime beaucoup. Judy

  30th May

  Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

  Did you ever see this campus? (That is merely a rhetorical question.Don't let it annoy you.) It is a heavenly spot in May. All the shrubsare in blossom and the trees are the loveliest young green--even theold pines look fresh and new. The grass is dotted with yellowdandelions and hundreds of girls in blue and white and pink dresses.Everybody is joyous and carefree, for vacation's coming, and with thatto look forward to, examinations don't count.

  Isn't that a happy frame of mind to be in? And oh, Daddy! I'm thehappiest of all! Because I'm not in the asylum any more; and I'm notanybody's nursemaid or typewriter or bookkeeper (I should have been,you know, except for you).

  I'm sorry now for all my past badnesses.

  I'm sorry I was ever impertinent to Mrs. Lippett.

  I'm sorry I ever slapped Freddie Perkins.

  I'm sorry I ever filled the sugar bowl with salt.

  I'm sorry I ever made faces behind the Trustees' backs.

  I'm going to be good and sweet and kind to everybody because I'm sohappy. And this summer I'm going to write and write and write andbegin to be a great author. Isn't that an exalted stand to take? Oh,I'm developing a beautiful character! It droops a bit under cold andfrost, but it does grow fast when the sun shines.

  That's the way with everybody. I don't agree with the theory thatadversity and sorrow and disappointment develop moral strength. Thehappy people are the ones who are bubbling over with kindliness. Ihave no faith in misanthropes. (Fine word! Just learned it.) You arenot a misanthrope are you, Daddy?

  I started to tell you about the campus. I wish you'd come for a littlevisit and let me walk you about and say:

  'That is the library. This is the gas plant, Daddy dear. The Gothicbuilding on your left is the gymnasium, and the Tudor Romanesque besideit is the new infirmary.'

  Oh, I'm fine at showing people about. I've done it all my life at theasylum, and I've been doing it all day here. I have honestly.

  And a Man, too!

  That's a great experience. I never talked to a man before (exceptoccasional Trustees, and they don't count). Pardon, Daddy, I don't meanto hurt your feelings when I abuse Trustees. I don't consider that youreally belong among them. You just tumbled on to the Board by chance.The Trustee, as such, is fat and pompous and benevolent. He pats oneon the head and wears a gold watch chain.

  That looks like a June bug, but is meant to be a portrait of anyTrustee except you.

  However--to resume:

  I have been walking and talking and having tea with a man. And with avery superior man--with Mr. Jervis Pendleton of the House of Julia; heruncle, in short (in long, perhaps I ought to say; he's as tall as you.)Being in town on business, he decided to run out to the college andcall on his niece. He's her father's youngest brother, but she doesn'tknow him very intimately. It seems he glanced at her when she was ababy, decided he didn't like her, and has never noticed her since.

  Anyway, there he was, sitting in the reception room very proper withhis hat and stick and gloves beside him; and Julia and Sallie withseventh-hour recitations that they couldn't cut. So Julia dashed intomy room and begged me to walk him about the campus and then deliver himto her when the seventh hour was over. I said I would, obligingly butunenthusiastically, because I don't care much for Pendletons.

  But he turned out to be a sweet lamb. He's a real human being--not aPendleton at all. We had a beautiful time; I've longed for an uncleever since. Do you mind pretending you're my uncle? I believe they'resuperior to grandmothers.

  Mr. Pendleton reminded me a little of you, Daddy, as you were twentyyears ago. You see I know you intimately, even if we haven't ever met!

  He's tall and thinnish with a dark face all over lines, and thefunniest underneath smile that never quite comes through but justwrinkles up the corners of his mouth. And he has a way of making youfeel right off as though you'd known him a long time. He's verycompanionable.

  We walked all over the campus from the quadrangle to the athleticgrounds; then he said he felt weak and must have some tea. He proposedthat we go to College Inn--it's just off the campus by the pine walk.I said we ought to go back for Julia and Sallie, but he said he didn'tlike to have his nieces drink too much tea; it made them nervous. Sowe just ran away and had tea and muffins and marmalade and ice-creamand cake at a nice little table out on the balcony. The inn was quiteconveniently empty, this being the end of the month and allowances low.

  We had the jolliest time! But he had to run for his train the minutehe got back and he barely saw Julia at all. She was furious with mefor taking him off; it seems he's an unusually rich and desirableuncle. It relieved my mind to find he was rich, for the tea and thingscost sixty cents apiece.

  This morning (it's Monday now) three boxes of chocolates came byexpress for Julia and Sallie and me. What do you think of that? To begetting candy from a man!

  I begin to feel like a girl instead of a foundling.

  I wish you'd come and have tea some day and let me see if I like you.But wouldn't it be dreadful if I didn't? However, I know I should.

  Bien! I make you my compliments.

  'Jamais je ne t'oublierai.' Judy

  PS. I looked in the glass this morning and found a perfectly newdimple that I'd never seen before. It's very curious. Where do yousuppose it came from?

  9th June

  Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

  Happy day! I've just finished my last examination Physiology. And now:

  Three months on a farm!

  I don't know what kind of a thing a farm is. I've never been on one inmy life. I've never even looked at one (except from the car window),but I know I'm going to love it, and I'm going to love being FREE.

  I am not used even
yet to being outside the John Grier Home. WheneverI think of it excited little thrills chase up and down my back. I feelas though I must run faster and faster and keep looking over myshoulder to make sure that Mrs. Lippett isn't after me with her armstretched out to grab me back.

  I don't have to mind any one this summer, do I?

  Your nominal authority doesn't annoy me in the least; you are too faraway to do any harm. Mrs. Lippett is dead for ever, so far as I amconcerned, and the Semples aren't expected to overlook my moralwelfare, are they? No, I am sure not. I am entirely grown up. Hooray!

  I leave you now to pack a trunk, and three boxes of teakettles anddishes and sofa cushions and books.

  Yours ever, Judy

  PS. Here is my physiology exam. Do you think you could have passed?

  LOCK WILLOW FARM, Saturday night

  Dearest Daddy-Long-Legs,

  I've only just come and I'm not unpacked, but I can't wait to tell youhow much I like farms. This is a heavenly, heavenly, HEAVENLY spot!The house is square like this: And OLD. A hundred years or so. Ithas a veranda on the side which I can't draw and a sweet porch infront. The picture really doesn't do it justice--those things thatlook like feather dusters are maple trees, and the prickly ones thatborder the drive are murmuring pines and hemlocks. It stands on thetop of a hill and looks way off over miles of green meadows to anotherline of hills.

  That is the way Connecticut goes, in a series of Marcelle waves; andLock Willow Farm is just on the crest of one wave. The barns used tobe across the road where they obstructed the view, but a kind flash oflightning came from heaven and burnt them down.

  The people are Mr. and Mrs. Semple and a hired girl and two hired men.The hired people eat in the kitchen, and the Semples and Judy in thedining-room. We had ham and eggs and biscuits and honey and jelly-cakeand pie and pickles and cheese and tea for supper--and a great deal ofconversation. I have never been so entertaining in my life; everythingI say appears to be funny. I suppose it is, because I've never been inthe country before, and my questions are backed by an all-inclusiveignorance.

  The room marked with a cross is not where the murder was committed, butthe one that I occupy. It's big and square and empty, with adorableold-fashioned furniture and windows that have to be propped up onsticks and green shades trimmed with gold that fall down if you touchthem. And a big square mahogany table--I'm going to spend the summerwith my elbows spread out on it, writing a novel.

  Oh, Daddy, I'm so excited! I can't wait till daylight to explore.It's 8.30 now, and I am about to blow out my candle and try to go tosleep. We rise at five. Did you ever know such fun? I can't believethis is really Judy. You and the Good Lord give me more than Ideserve. I must be a very, very, VERY good person to pay. I'm goingto be. You'll see.

  Good night, Judy

  PS. You should hear the frogs sing and the little pigs squeal and youshould see the new moon! I saw it over my right shoulder.

  LOCK WILLOW, 12th July

  Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

  How did your secretary come to know about Lock Willow? (That isn't arhetorical question. I am awfully curious to know.) For listen tothis: Mr. Jervis Pendleton used to own this farm, but now he has givenit to Mrs. Semple who was his old nurse. Did you ever hear of such afunny coincidence? She still calls him 'Master Jervie' and talks aboutwhat a sweet little boy he used to be. She has one of his baby curlsput away in a box, and it is red--or at least reddish!

  Since she discovered that I know him, I have risen very much in heropinion. Knowing a member of the Pendleton family is the bestintroduction one can have at Lock Willow. And the cream of the wholefamily is Master Jervis--I am pleased to say that Julia belongs to aninferior branch.

  The farm gets more and more entertaining. I rode on a hay wagonyesterday. We have three big pigs and nine little piglets, and youshould see them eat. They are pigs! We've oceans of little babychickens and ducks and turkeys and guinea fowls. You must be mad tolive in a city when you might live on a farm.

  It is my daily business to hunt the eggs. I fell off a beam in thebarn loft yesterday, while I was trying to crawl over to a nest thatthe black hen has stolen. And when I came in with a scratched knee,Mrs. Semple bound it up with witch-hazel, murmuring all the time,'Dear! Dear! It seems only yesterday that Master Jervie fell off thatvery same beam and scratched this very same knee.'

  The scenery around here is perfectly beautiful. There's a valley and ariver and a lot of wooded hills, and way in the distance a tall bluemountain that simply melts in your mouth.

  We churn twice a week; and we keep the cream in the spring house whichis made of stone with the brook running underneath. Some of thefarmers around here have a separator, but we don't care for thesenew-fashioned ideas. It may be a little harder to separate the creamin pans, but it's sufficiently better to pay. We have six calves; andI've chosen the names for all of them.

  1. Sylvia, because she was born in the woods.

  2. Lesbia, after the Lesbia in Catullus.

  3. Sallie.

  4. Julia--a spotted, nondescript animal.

  5. Judy, after me.

  6. Daddy-Long-Legs. You don't mind, do you, Daddy? He's pure Jerseyand has a sweet disposition. He looks like this--you can see howappropriate the name is.

  I haven't had time yet to begin my immortal novel; the farm keeps metoo busy.

  Yours always, Judy

  PS. I've learned to make doughnuts.

  PS. (2) If you are thinking of raising chickens, let me recommend BuffOrpingtons. They haven't any pin feathers.

  PS. (3) I wish I could send you a pat of the nice, fresh butter Ichurned yesterday. I'm a fine dairy-maid!

  PS. (4) This is a picture of Miss Jerusha Abbott, the future greatauthor, driving home the cows.

  Sunday

  Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

  Isn't it funny? I started to write to you yesterday afternoon, but asfar as I got was the heading, 'Dear Daddy-Long-Legs', and then Iremembered I'd promised to pick some blackberries for supper, so I wentoff and left the sheet lying on the table, and when I came back today,what do you think I found sitting in the middle of the page? A realtrue Daddy-Long-Legs!

  I picked him up very gently by one leg, and dropped him out of thewindow. I wouldn't hurt one of them for the world. They always remindme of you.

  We hitched up the spring wagon this morning and drove to the Centre tochurch. It's a sweet little white frame church with a spire and threeDoric columns in front (or maybe Ionic--I always get them mixed).

  A nice sleepy sermon with everybody drowsily waving palm-leaf fans, andthe only sound, aside from the minister, the buzzing of locusts in thetrees outside. I didn't wake up till I found myself on my feet singingthe hymn, and then I was awfully sorry I hadn't listened to the sermon;I should like to know more of the psychology of a man who would pickout such a hymn. This was it:

  Come, leave your sports and earthly toys And join me in celestial joys. Or else, dear friend, a long farewell. I leave you now to sink to hell.

  I find that it isn't safe to discuss religion with the Semples. TheirGod (whom they have inherited intact from their remote Puritanancestors) is a narrow, irrational, unjust, mean, revengeful, bigotedPerson. Thank heaven I don't inherit God from anybody! I am free tomake mine up as I wish Him. He's kind and sympathetic and imaginativeand forgiving and understanding--and He has a sense of humour.

  I like the Semples immensely; their practice is so superior to theirtheory. They are better than their own God. I told them s
o--and theyare horribly troubled. They think I am blasphemous--and I think theyare! We've dropped theology from our conversation.

  This is Sunday afternoon.

  Amasai (hired man) in a purple tie and some bright yellow buckskingloves, very red and shaved, has just driven off with Carrie (hiredgirl) in a big hat trimmed with red roses and a blue muslin dress andher hair curled as tight as it will curl. Amasai spent all the morningwashing the buggy; and Carrie stayed home from church ostensibly tocook the dinner, but really to iron the muslin dress.

  In two minutes more when this letter is finished I am going to settledown to a book which I found in the attic. It's entitled, On theTrail, and sprawled across the front page in a funny little-boy hand:

  Jervis Pendleton if this book should ever roam, Box its ears and send it home.

  He spent the summer here once after he had been ill, when he was abouteleven years old; and he left On the Trail behind. It looks wellread--the marks of his grimy little hands are frequent! Also in acorner of the attic there is a water wheel and a windmill and some bowsand arrows. Mrs. Semple talks so constantly about him that I begin tobelieve he really lives--not a grown man with a silk hat and walkingstick, but a nice, dirty, tousle-headed boy who clatters up the stairswith an awful racket, and leaves the screen doors open, and is alwaysasking for cookies. (And getting them, too, if I know Mrs. Semple!) Heseems to have been an adventurous little soul--and brave and truthful.I'm sorry to think he is a Pendleton; he was meant for something better.