Daddy Long Legs

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 acquaintance--I shall hate you if you don't! Julia's

inviting Master Jervie, he being her family, and Sallie's inviting

Jimmie McB., he being her family, but who is there for me to invite?

Just you and Lippett, and I don't want her. Please come.

Yours, with love and writer's cramp.

Judy

LOCK WILLOW,

19th June

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

I'm 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 summer--for 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. He's

connected with a bond house now, and goes about the country selling

bonds to banks. He's going to combine the 'Farmers' National' at the

Corners and me on the same trip.

You see that Lock Willow isn't entirely lacking in society. I'd be

expecting to have you come motoring through--only I know now that that

is hopeless. When you wouldn't 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,

Isn't it fun to work--or don't you ever do it? It's especially fun

when your kind of work is the thing you'd rather do more than anything

else in the world. I've been writing as fast as my pen would go every

day this summer, and my only quarrel with life is that the days aren't

long enough to write all the beautiful and valuable and entertaining

thoughts I'm thinking.

I've finished the second draft of my book and am going to begin the

third tomorrow morning at half-past seven. It's the sweetest book you

ever saw--it 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 I'm so tired that I'm 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. It's the most beautiful book

you ever saw--Oh, pardon--I said that before.