Daddy Long Legs

But isn't it just like a man, Daddy? He doesn't give the remotest hint

as to whether he will land on the doorstep today, or two weeks from

today. We shall live in a perpetual breathlessness until he comes--and

if he doesn't hurry, the cleaning may all have to be done over again.

There's Amasai waiting below with the buckboard and Grover. I drive

alone--but if you could see old Grove, you wouldn't be worried as to my

safety.

With my hand on my heart--farewell.

Judy

PS. Isn't that a nice ending? I got it out of Stevenson's letters.

Saturday

Good morning again! I didn't get this ENVELOPED yesterday before the

postman came, so I'll add some more. We have one mail a day at twelve

o'clock. Rural delivery is a blessing to the farmers! Our postman not

only delivers letters, but he runs errands for us in town, at five

cents an errand. Yesterday he brought me some shoe-strings and a jar

of cold cream (I sunburned all the skin off my nose before I got my new

hat) and a blue Windsor tie and a bottle of blacking all for ten cents.

That was an unusual bargain, owing to the largeness of my order.

Also he tells us what is happening in the Great World. Several people

on the route take daily papers, and he reads them as he jogs along, and

repeats the news to the ones who don't subscribe. So in case a war

breaks out between the United States and Japan, or the president is

assassinated, or Mr. Rockefeller leaves a million dollars to the John

Grier Home, you needn't bother to write; I'll hear it anyway.

No sign yet of Master Jervie. But you should see how clean our house

is--and with what anxiety we wipe our feet before we step in!

I hope he'll come soon; I am longing for someone to talk to. Mrs.

Semple, to tell you the truth, gets rather monotonous. She never lets

ideas interrupt the easy flow of her conversation. It's a funny thing

about the people here. Their world is just this single hilltop. They

are not a bit universal, if you know what I mean. It's exactly the

same as at the John Grier Home. Our ideas there were bounded by the

four sides of the iron fence, only I didn't mind it so much because I

was younger, and was so awfully busy. By the time I'd got all my beds

made and my babies' faces washed and had gone to school and come home

and had washed their faces again and darned their stockings and mended

Freddie Perkins's trousers (he tore them every day of his life) and

learned my lessons in between--I was ready to go to bed, and I didn't

notice any lack of social intercourse. But after two years in a

conversational college, I do miss it; and I shall be glad to see

somebody who speaks my language.