Daddy Long Legs

It's the one touch of nature that makes the whole world kin. (That

isn't original. I got it out of one of Shakespeare's plays).

However, to resume. Do you want me to tell you a secret that I've

lately discovered? And will you promise not to think me vain? Then

listen: I'm pretty.

I am, really. I'd be an awful idiot not to know it with three

looking-glasses in the room.

A Friend

PS. This is one of those wicked anonymous letters you read about in

novels.

20th December

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

I've just a moment, because I must attend two classes, pack a trunk and

a suit-case, and catch the four-o'clock train--but I couldn't go

without sending a word to let you know how much I appreciate my

Christmas box.

I love the furs and the necklace and the Liberty scarf and the gloves

and handkerchiefs and books and purse--and most of all I love you! But

Daddy, you have no business to spoil me this way. I'm only human--and

a girl at that. How can I keep my mind sternly fixed on a studious

career, when you deflect me with such worldly frivolities?

I have strong suspicions now as to which one of the John Grier Trustees

used to give the Christmas tree and the Sunday ice-cream. He was

nameless, but by his works I know him! You deserve to be happy for all

the good things you do.

Goodbye, and a very merry Christmas.

Yours always,

Judy

PS. I am sending a slight token, too. Do you think you would like her

if you knew her?

11th January

I meant to write to you from the city, Daddy, but New York is an

engrossing place.

I had an interesting--and illuminating--time, but I'm glad I don't

belong to such a family! I should truly rather have the John Grier

Home for a background. Whatever the drawbacks of my bringing up, there

was at least no pretence about it. I know now what people mean when

they say they are weighed down by Things. The material atmosphere of

that house was crushing; I didn't draw a deep breath until I was on an

express train coming back. All the furniture was carved and

upholstered and gorgeous; the people I met were beautifully dressed and

low-voiced and well-bred, but it's the truth, Daddy, I never heard one

word of real talk from the time we arrived until we left. I don't

think an idea ever entered the front door.

Mrs. Pendleton never thinks of anything but jewels and dressmakers and

social engagements. She did seem a different kind of mother from Mrs.

McBride! If I ever marry and have a family, I'm going to make them as

exactly like the McBrides as I can. Not for all the money in the world

would I ever let any children of mine develop into Pendletons. Maybe

it isn't polite to criticize people you've been visiting? If it isn't,

please excuse. This is very confidential, between you and me.