You don't think me conceited, do you, Daddy dear?
I'm not, really, only just now I'm in the enthusiastic stage. Maybe
later on I'll get cold and critical and sniffy. No, I'm sure I won't!
This time I've written a real book. Just wait till you see it.
I'll 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
now--you should hear her scold! And she doesn't 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 dingy--black and brown, where they used to be scarlet and
purple. I've determined never to marry. It's a deteriorating process,
evidently.
There isn't 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 and raising broilers.
You see I'm settled at Lock Willow permanently. I have decided to stay
until I've written 114 novels like Anthony Trollope's mother. Then I
shall have completed my life work and can retire and travel.
Mr. James McBride spent last Sunday with us. Fried chicken and
ice-cream for dinner, both of which he appeared to appreciate. I was
awfully glad to see him; he brought a momentary reminder that the world
at large exists. Poor Jimmie is having a hard time peddling his bonds.
The 'Farmers' National' at the Corners wouldn't have anything to do
with them in spite of the fact that they pay six per cent. interest
and sometimes seven. I think he'll end up by going home to Worcester
and taking a job in his father's factory. He's too open and confiding
and kind-hearted ever to make a successful financier. But to be the
manager of a flourishing overall factory is a very desirable position,
don't you think? Just now he turns up his nose at overalls, but he'll
come to them.
I hope you appreciate the fact that this is a long letter from a person
with writer's cramp. But I still love you, Daddy dear, and I'm very
happy. With beautiful scenery all about, and lots to eat and a
comfortable four-post bed and a ream of blank paper and a pint of
ink--what more does one want in the world?