I meant to have written a lot about the budding trees and the new

cinder path in the athletic field, and the awful lesson we have in

biology for tomorrow, and the new canoes on the lake, and Catherine

Prentiss who has pneumonia, and Prexy's Angora kitten that strayed from

home and has been boarding in Fergussen Hall for two weeks until a

chambermaid reported it, and about my three new dresses--white and pink

and blue polka dots with a hat to match--but I am too sleepy. I am

always making this an excuse, am I not? But a girls' college is a busy

place and we do get tired by the end of the day! Particularly when the

day begins at dawn.

Affectionately,

Judy

15th May

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Is it good manners when you get into a car just to stare straight ahead

and not see anybody else?

A very beautiful lady in a very beautiful velvet dress got into the car

today, and without the slightest expression sat for fifteen minutes and

looked at a sign advertising suspenders. It doesn't seem polite to

ignore everybody else as though you were the only important person

present. Anyway, you miss a lot. While she was absorbing that silly

sign, I was studying a whole car full of interesting human beings.

The accompanying illustration is hereby reproduced for the first time.

It looks like a spider on the end of a string, but it isn't at all;

it's a picture of me learning to swim in the tank in the gymnasium.

The instructor hooks a rope into a ring in the back of my belt, and

runs it through a pulley in the ceiling. It would be a beautiful

system if one had perfect confidence in the probity of one's

instructor. I'm always afraid, though, that she will let the rope get

slack, so I keep one anxious eye on her and swim with the other, and

with this divided interest I do not make the progress that I otherwise

might.

Very miscellaneous weather we're having of late. It was raining when I

commenced and now the sun is shining. Sallie and I are going out to

play tennis--thereby gaining exemption from Gym.

A week later

I should have finished this letter long ago, but I didn't. You don't

mind, do you, Daddy, if I'm not very regular? I really do love to

write to you; it gives me such a respectable feeling of having some

family. Would you like me to tell you something? You are not the only

man to whom I write letters. There are two others! I have been

receiving beautiful long letters this winter from Master Jervie (with

typewritten envelopes so Julia won't recognize the writing). Did you

ever hear anything so shocking? And every week or so a very scrawly

epistle, usually on yellow tablet paper, arrives from Princeton. All

of which I answer with business-like promptness. So you see--I am not

so different from other girls--I get letters, too.

Did I tell you that I have been elected a member of the Senior Dramatic

Club? Very recherche organization. Only seventy-five members out of

one thousand. Do you think as a consistent Socialist that I ought to

belong?

What do you suppose is at present engaging my attention in sociology?

I am writing (figurez vous!) a paper on the Care of Dependent Children.

The Professor shuffled up his subjects and dealt them out

promiscuously, and that fell to me. C'est drole ca n'est pas?

There goes the gong for dinner. I'll post this as I pass the box.

Affectionately,

J.

4th June

Dear Daddy,

Very busy time--commencement in ten days, examinations tomorrow; lots

of studying, lots of packing, and the outdoor world so lovely that it

hurts you to stay inside.

But never mind, vacation's coming. Julia is going abroad this

summer--it makes the fourth time. No doubt about it, Daddy, goods are

not distributed evenly. Sallie, as usual, goes to the Adirondacks.

And what do you think I am going to do? You may have three guesses.

Lock Willow? Wrong. The Adirondacks with Sallie? Wrong. (I'll never

attempt that again; I was discouraged last year.) Can't you guess

anything else? You're not very inventive. I'll tell you, Daddy, if

you'll promise not to make a lot of objections. I warn your secretary

in advance that my mind is made up.

I am going to spend the summer at the seaside with a Mrs. Charles

Paterson and tutor her daughter who is to enter college in the autumn.

I met her through the McBrides, and she is a very charming woman. I am

to give lessons in English and Latin to the younger daughter, too, but

I shall have a little time to myself, and I shall be earning fifty

dollars a month! Doesn't that impress you as a perfectly exorbitant

amount? She offered it; I should have blushed to ask for more than

twenty-five.

I finish at Magnolia (that's where she lives) the first of September,

and shall probably spend the remaining three weeks at Lock Willow--I

should like to see the Semples again and all the friendly animals.

How does my programme strike you, Daddy? I am getting quite

independent, you see. You have put me on my feet and I think I can

almost walk alone by now.

Princeton commencement and our examinations exactly coincide--which is

an awful blow. Sallie and I did so want to get away in time for it,

but of course that is utterly impossible.

Goodbye, Daddy. Have a nice summer and come back in the autumn rested

and ready for another year of work. (That's what you ought to be

writing to me!) I haven't any idea what you do in the summer, or how

you amuse yourself. I can't visualize your surroundings. Do you play

golf or hunt or ride horseback or just sit in the sun and meditate?

Anyway, whatever it is, have a good time and don't forget Judy.