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5th June
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Your secretary man has just written to me saying that Mr. Smith prefers that I should not accept Mrs. McBride's invitation, but should return to Lock Willow the same as last summer.
Why, why, WHY, Daddy? You don't understand about it. Mrs. McBride does want me, really and truly.
I'm not the least bit of trouble in the house. I'm a help. They don't take up many servants, and Sallie an I can do lots of useful things.
It's a fine chance for me to learn housekeeping. Every woman ought to understand it, and I only know asylum-keeping.
There aren't any girls our age at the camp, and Mrs. McBride wants me for a companion for Sallie.
We are planning to do a lot of reading together. We are going to read all of the books for next year's English and sociology.
The Professor said it would be a great help if we would get our reading finished in the summer; and it's so much easier to remember it if we read together and talk it over.
Just to live in the same house with Sallie's mother is an education. She's the most interesting, entertaining, companionable, charming woman in the world; she knows everything.
Think how many summers I've spent with Mrs. Lippett and how I'll appreciate the contrast.
You needn't be afraid that I'll be crowding them, for their house is made of rubber. When they have a lot of company, they just sprinkle tents about in the woods and turn the boys outside.
It's going to be such a nice, healthy summer exercising out of doors every minute.
Jimmie McBride is going to teach me how to ride horseback and paddle a canoe, and how to shoot and— oh, lots of things I ought to know.
It's the kind of nice, jolly, care-free time that I've never had; and I think every girl deserves it once in her life.
Of course I'll do exactly as you say, but please, PLEASE let me go, Daddy. I've never wanted anything so much.
This isn't Jerusha Abbott, the future great author, writing to you. It's just Judy— a girl.
9th June
Mr. John Smith,
SIR: Yours of the 7th inst. at hand.
In compliance with the instructions received through your secretary, I leave on Friday next to spend the summer at Lock Willow Farm.
I hope always to remain, (Miss) Jerusha Abbott
LOCK WILLOW FARM, 3rd August
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
It has been nearly two months since I wrote, which wasn't nice of me, I know, but I haven't loved you much this summer— you see I'm being frank!
You can't imagine how disappointed I was at having to give up the McBrides' camp.
Of course I know that you're my guardian, and that I have to regard your wishes in all matters, but I couldn't see any REASON.
It was so distinctly the best thing that could have happened to me.
If I had been Daddy, and you had been Judy, I should have said, 'Bless yo my child, run along and have a good time; see lots of new people and learn lots of new things; live out of doors, and get strong and well and rested for a year of hard work.'
But not at all! Just a curt line from your secretary ordering me to Lock Willow.
It's the impersonality of your commands that hurts my feelings.
It seems as though, if you felt the tiniest little bit for me the way I feel for you, you'd sometimes send me a message that you'd written with your own hand, instead of those beastly typewritten secretary's notes.
If there were the slightest hint that you cared, I'd do anything on earth to please you.
I know that I was to write nice, long, detailed letters without ever expecting any answer.
You're living up to your side of the bargain— I'm being educated— and I suppose you're thinking I'm not living up to mine!
But, Daddy, it is a hard bargain. It is, really. I'm so awfully lonely. You are the only person I have to care for, and you are so shadowy.
You're just an imaginary man that I've made up— and probably the real YOU isn't a bit like my imaginary YOU.
But you did once, when I was ill in the infirmary, send me a message, and now, when I am feeling awfully forgotten, I get out your card and read it over.
I don't think I am telling you at all what I started to say, which was this:
Although my feelings are still hurt, for it is very humiliating to be picked up and moved about by an arbitrary, peremptory, unreasonable, omnipotent, invisible Providence,
still, when a man has been as kind and generous and thoughtful as you have heretofore been towards me, I suppose he has a right to be an arbitrary, peremptory, unreasonable, invisible Providence if he chooses, and so— I'll forgive you and be cheerful again.
But I still don't enjoy getting Sallie's letters about the good times they are having in camp! However— we will draw a veil over that and begin again.
I've been writing and writing this summer; four short stories finished and sent to four different magazines. So you see I'm trying to be an author.
I have a workroom fixed in a corner of the attic where Master Jervie used to have his rainy-day playroom.
It's in a cool, breezy corner with two dormer windows, and shaded by a maple tree with a family of red squirrels living in a hole.
I'll write a nicer letter in a few days and tell you all the farm news.
We need rain.
Yours as ever, Judy
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