Daddy-Long-Legs - Jean Webster (best e reader for academics txt) š
- Author: Jean Webster
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Samuel was as excited about his clothes as any girl; he spent five times as much on dress as his wifeāthat appears to have been the Golden Age of husbands. Isnāt this a touching entry? You see he really was honest. `Today came home my fine Camlett cloak with gold buttons, which cost me much money, and I pray God to make me able to pay for it.ā
Excuse me for being so full of Pepys; Iām writing a special topic on him.
What do you think, Daddy? The Self-Government Association has abolished the ten oāclock rule. We can keep our lights all night if we choose, the only requirement being that we do not disturb othersā we are not supposed to entertain on a large scale. The result is a beautiful commentary on human nature. Now that we may stay up as long as we choose, we no longer choose. Our heads begin to nod at nine oāclock, and by nine-thirty the pen drops from our nerveless grasp. Itās nine-thirty now. Good night.
Sunday
Just back from churchāpreacher from Georgia. We must take care, he says, not to develop our intellects at the expense of our emotional naturesā but methought it was a poor, dry sermon (Pepys again). It doesnāt matter what part of the United States or Canada they come from, or what denomination they are, we always get the same sermon. Why on earth donāt they go to menās colleges and urge the students not to allow their manly natures to be crushed out by too much mental application?
Itās a beautiful dayāfrozen and icy and clear. As soon as dinner is over, Sallie and Julia and Marty Keene and Eleanor Pratt (friends of mine, but you donāt know them) and I are going to put on short skirts and walk ācross country to Crystal Spring Farm and have a fried chicken and waffle supper, and then have Mr. Crystal Spring drive us home in his buckboard. We are supposed to be inside the campus at seven, but we are going to stretch a point tonight and make it eight.
Farewell, kind Sir. I have the honour of subscribing myself, Your most loyall, dutifull, faithfull and obedient servant, J. Abbott
March Fifth Dear Mr. Trustee,
Tomorrow is the first Wednesday in the monthāa weary day for the John Grier Home. How relieved theyāll be when five oāclock comes and you pat them on the head and take yourselves off! Did you (individually) ever pat me on the head, Daddy? I donāt believe soā my memory seems to be concerned only with fat Trustees.
Give the Home my love, pleaseāmy TRULY love. I have quite a feeling of tenderness for it as I look back through a haze of four years. When I first came to college I felt quite resentful because Iād been robbed of the normal kind of childhood that the other girls had had; but now, I donāt feel that way in the least. I regard it as a very unusual adventure. It gives me a sort of vantage point from which to stand aside and look at life. Emerging full grown, I get a perspective on the world, that other people who have been brought up in the thick of things entirely lack.
I know lots of girls (Julia, for instance) who never know that they are happy. They are so accustomed to the feeling that their senses are deadened to it; but as for meāI am perfectly sure every moment of my life that I am happy. And Iām going to keep on being, no matter what unpleasant things turn up. Iām going to regard them (even toothaches) as interesting experiences, and be glad to know what they feel like. `Whatever skyās above me, Iāve a heart for any fate.ā
However, Daddy, donāt take this new affection for the J.G.H. too literally. If I have five children, like Rousseau, I shanāt leave them on the steps of a foundling asylum in order to insure their being brought up simply.
Give my kindest regards to Mrs. Lippett (that, I think, is truthful; love would be a little strong) and donāt forget to tell her what a beautiful nature Iāve developed. Affectionately, Judy
LOCK WILLOW, 4th April Dear Daddy,
Do you observe the postmark? Sallie and I are embellishing Lock Willow with our presence during the Easter Vacation. We decided that the best thing we could do with our ten days was to come where it is quiet. Our nerves had got to the point where they wouldnāt stand another meal in Fergussen. Dining in a room with four hundred girls is an ordeal when you are tired. There is so much noise that you canāt hear the girls across the table speak unless they make their hands into a megaphone and shout. That is the truth.
We are tramping over the hills and reading and writing, and having a nice, restful time. We climbed to the top of `Sky Hillā this morning where Master Jervie and I once cooked supperā it doesnāt seem possible that it was nearly two years ago. I could still see the place where the smoke of our fire blackened the rock. It is funny how certain places get connected with certain people, and you never go back without thinking of them. I was quite lonely without himāfor two minutes.
What do you think is my latest activity, Daddy? You will begin to believe that I am incorrigibleāI am writing a book. I started it three weeks ago and am eating it up in chunks. Iāve caught the secret. Master Jervie and that editor man were right; you are most convincing when you write about the things you know. And this time it is about something that I do knowāexhaustively. Guess where itās laid? In the John Grier Home! And itās good, Daddy, I actually believe it isājust about the tiny little things that happened every day. Iām a realist now. Iāve abandoned romanticism; I shall go back to it later though, when my own adventurous future begins.
This new book is going to get itself finishedāand published! You see if it doesnāt. If you just want a thing hard enough and keep on trying, you do get it in the end. Iāve been trying for four years to get a letter from youāand I havenāt given up hope yet.
Goodbye, Daddy dear,
(I like to call you Daddy dear; itās so alliterative.) Affectionately, Judy
PS. I forgot to tell you the farm news, but itās very distressing. Skip this postscript if you donāt want your sensibilities all wrought up.
Poor old Grove is dead. He got so that he couldnāt chew and they had to 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 out from Bonnyrigg Four Corners. Amasai stayed up all night to give her linseed oil and whisky. But we have an awful suspicion that the poor sick cow got nothing but linseed oil.
Sentimental Tommy (the tortoise-shell cat) has disappeared; we are afraid he has been caught in a trap.
There are lots of troubles in the world!
17th May Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,This is going to be extremely short because my shoulder aches at the sight of a pen. Lecture notes all day, immortal novel all evening, make too much writing.
Commencement three weeks from next Wednesday. I think you might come and make my acquaintanceāI shall hate you if you donāt! Juliaās inviting Master Jervie, he being her family, and Sallieās inviting Jimmie McB., he being her family, but who is there for me to invite? Just you and Lippett, and I donāt want her. Please come.
Yours, with love and writerās cramp. Judy
LOCK WILLOW, 19th June Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Iām educated! My diploma is in the bottom bureau drawer with my two best dresses. Commencement was as usual, with a few showers at vital moments. Thank you for your rosebuds. They were lovely. Master Jervie and Master Jimmie both gave me roses, too, but I left theirs in the bath tub and carried yours in the class procession.
Here I am at Lock Willow for the summerāfor ever maybe. The board is cheap; the surroundings quiet and conducive to a literary life. What more does a struggling author wish? I am mad about my book. I think of it every waking moment, and dream of it at night. All I want is peace and quiet and lots of time to work (interspersed with nourishing meals).
Master Jervie is coming up for a week or so in August, and Jimmie McBride is going to drop in sometime through the summer. Heās connected with a bond house now, and goes about the country selling bonds to banks. Heās going to combine the `Farmersā Nationalā at the Corners and me on the same trip.
You see that Lock Willow isnāt entirely lacking in society. Iād be expecting to have you come motoring throughāonly I know now that that is hopeless. When you wouldnāt come to my commencement, I tore you from my heart and buried you for ever. Judy Abbott, A.B.
24th July Dearest Daddy-Long-Legs,Isnāt it fun to workāor donāt you ever do it? Itās especially fun when your kind of work is the thing youād rather do more than anything else in the world. Iāve been writing as fast as my pen would go every day this summer, and my only quarrel with life is that the days arenāt long enough to write all the beautiful and valuable and entertaining thoughts Iām thinking.
Iāve finished the second draft of my book and am going to begin the third tomorrow morning at half-past seven. Itās the sweetest book you ever sawāit is, truly. I think of nothing else. I can barely wait in the morning to dress and eat before beginning; then I write and write and write till suddenly Iām so tired that Iām limp all over. Then I go out with Colin (the new sheep dog) and romp through the fields and get a fresh supply of ideas for the next day. Itās the most beautiful book you ever sawāOh, pardonāI said that before.
You donāt think me conceited, do you, Daddy dear?
Iām not, really, only just now Iām in the enthusiastic stage. Maybe later on Iāll get cold and critical and sniffy. No, Iām sure I wonāt! This time Iāve written a real book. Just wait till you see it.
Iāll 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 still working here, but so far as I can see it has spoiled them both. She used to laugh when he tramped in mud or dropped ashes on the floor, but nowāyou should hear her scold! And she doesnāt curl her hair any longer. Amasai, who used to be so obliging about beating rugs and carrying wood, grumbles if you suggest such a thing. Also his neckties are quite dingyāblack and brown, where they used to be scarlet and purple. Iāve determined never to marry. Itās a deteriorating process, evidently.
There isnāt much of any farm news. The animals are all in the best of health. The pigs are unusually fat, the cows seem contented and the hens are laying well. Are you interested in poultry? If so, let me recommend that invaluable little work, 200 Eggs per Hen per Year. I am thinking of starting an incubator next spring
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