towards the end of

the christmas vacation.

exact date unknown

dear daddy-long-legs,

is it snowing where you are? all the world that i see from my tower

is draped in white and the flakes are coming down as big as pop-corns.

it's late afternoon--the sun is just setting (a cold yellow colour)

behind some colder violet hills, and i am up in my window seat

using the last light to write to you.

your five gold pieces were a surprise! i'm not used to receiving

christmas presents. you have already given me such lots of things--

everything i have, you know--that i don't quite feel that i

deserve extras. but i like them just the same. do you want to know

what i bought with my money?

i. a silver watch in a leather case to wear on my wrist and get me

to recitations in time.

ii. matthew arnold's poems.

iii. a hot water bottle.

iv. a steamer rug. (my tower is cold.)

v. five hundred sheets of yellow manuscript paper. (i'm going

to commence being an author pretty soon.)

vi. a dictionary of synonyms. (to enlarge the author's vocabulary.)

vii. (i don't much like to confess this last item, but i will.)

a pair of silk stockings.

and now, daddy, never say i don't tell all!

it was a very low motive, if you must know it, that prompted the

silk stockings. julia pendleton comes into my room to do geometry,

and she sits cross-legged on the couch and wears silk stockings

every night. but just wait--as soon as she gets back from vacation

i shall go in and sit on her couch in my silk stockings. you see,

daddy, the miserable creature that i am but at least i'm honest;

and you knew already, from my asylum record, that i wasn't perfect,

didn't you?

to recapitulate (that's the way the english instructor begins every

other sentence), i am very much obliged for my seven presents.

i'm pretending to myself that they came in a box from my family

in california. the watch is from father, the rug from mother,

the hot water bottle from grandmother who is always worrying for fear

i shall catch cold in this climate--and the yellow paper from my

little brother harry. my sister isabel gave me the silk stockings,

and aunt susan the matthew arnold poems; uncle harry (little harry is

named after him) gave me the dictionary. he wanted to send chocolates,

but i insisted on synonyms.

you don't object, do you, to playing the part of a composite family?

and now, shall i tell you about my vacation, or are you only interested

in my education as such? i hope you appreciate the delicate shade

of meaning in `as such'. it is the latest addition to my vocabulary.

the girl from texas is named leonora fenton. (almost as funny

as jerusha, isn't it?) i like her, but not so much as sallie mcbride;

i shall never like any one so much as sallie--except you. i must

always like you the best of all, because you're my whole family

rolled into one. leonora and i and two sophomores have walked 'cross

country every pleasant day and explored the whole neighbourhood,

dressed in short skirts and knit jackets and caps, and carrying shiny

sticks to whack things with. once we walked into town--four miles--

and stopped at a restaurant where the college girls go for dinner.

broiled lobster (35 cents), and for dessert, buckwheat cakes and maple

syrup (15 cents). nourishing and cheap.

it was such a lark! especially for me, because it was so awfully

different from the asylum--i feel like an escaped convict every

time i leave the campus. before i thought, i started to tell

the others what an experience i was having. the cat was almost

out of the bag when i grabbed it by its tail and pulled it back.

it's awfully hard for me not to tell everything i know. i'm a very

confiding soul by nature; if i didn't have you to tell things to,

i'd burst.

we had a molasses candy pull last friday evening, given by the

house matron of fergussen to the left-behinds in the other halls.

there were twenty-two of us altogether, freshmen and sophomores and

juniors and seniors all united in amicable accord. the kitchen is huge,

with copper pots and kettles hanging in rows on the stone wall--

the littlest casserole among them about the size of a wash boiler.

four hundred girls live in fergussen. the chef, in a white cap

and apron, fetched out twenty-two other white caps and aprons--

i can't imagine where he got so many--and we all turned ourselves

into cooks.

it was great fun, though i have seen better candy. when it was

finally finished, and ourselves and the kitchen and the door-knobs

all thoroughly sticky, we organized a procession and still in our

caps and aprons, each carrying a big fork or spoon or frying pan,

we marched through the empty corridors to the officers' parlour,

where half-a-dozen professors and instructors were passing

a tranquil evening. we serenaded them with college songs and

offered refreshments. they accepted politely but dubiously.

we left them sucking chunks of molasses candy, sticky and speechless.

so you see, daddy, my education progresses!

don't you really think that i ought to be an artist instead

of an author?

vacation will be over in two days and i shall be glad to see the

girls again. my tower is just a trifle lonely; when nine people occupy

a house that was built for four hundred, they do rattle around a bit.

eleven pages--poor daddy, you must be tired! i meant this to be

just a short little thank-you note--but when i get started i seem

to have a ready pen.

goodbye, and thank you for thinking of me--i should be perfectly

happy except for one little threatening cloud on the horizon.

examinations come in february.

yours with love,

judy

ps. maybe it isn't proper to send love? if it isn't, please excuse.

but i must love somebody and there's only you and mrs. lippett

to choose between, so you see--you'll have to put up with it,

daddy dear, because i can't love her.