Daddy Long Legs

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?