11th April

Dearest Daddy,

Will you please forgive me for the letter I wrote you yesterday?  After I posted it I was sorry, and tried to get it back, but that beastly mail clerk wouldn’t give it back to me.

It’s the middle of the night now; I’ve been awake for hours thinking what a Worm I am—­what a Thousand-legged Worm—­ and that’s the worst I can say!  I’ve closed the door very softly into the study so as not to wake Julia and Sallie, and am sitting up in bed writing to you on paper torn out of my history note-book.

I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry I was so impolite about your cheque.  I know you meant it kindly, and I think you’re an old dear to take so much trouble for such a silly thing as a hat.  I ought to have returned it very much more graciously.

But in any case, I had to return it.  It’s different with me than with other girls.  They can take things naturally from people.  They have fathers and brothers and aunts and uncles; but I can’t be on any such relations with any one.  I like to pretend that you belong to me, just to play with the idea, but of course I know you don’t.  I’m alone, really—­with my back to the wall fighting the world—­ and I get sort of gaspy when I think about it.  I put it out of my mind, and keep on pretending; but don’t you see, Daddy?  I can’t accept any more money than I have to, because some day I shall be wanting to pay it back, and even as great an author as I intend to be won’t be able to face a perfectly tremendous debt.

I’d love pretty hats and things, but I mustn’t mortgage the future to pay for them.

You’ll forgive me, won’t you, for being so rude?  I have an awful habit of writing impulsively when I first think things, and then posting the letter beyond recall.  But if I sometimes seem thoughtless and ungrateful, I never mean it.  In my heart I thank you always for the life and freedom and independence that you have given me.  My childhood was just a long, sullen stretch of revolt, and now I am so happy every moment of the day that I can’t believe it’s true.  I feel like a made-up heroine in a story-book.

It’s a quarter past two.  I’m going to tiptoe out to post this
off now.  You’ll receive it in the next mail after the other;
so you won’t have a very long time to think bad of me. 
                       Good night, Daddy,
                           I love you always,
                                               Judy

4th May
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Field Day last Saturday.  It was a very spectacular occasion.  First we had a parade of all the classes, with everybody dressed in white linen, the Seniors carrying blue and gold Japanese umbrellas, and the juniors white and yellow banners.  Our class had crimson balloons—­ very fetching, especially as they were always getting loose and floating off—­and the Freshmen wore green tissue-paper hats with long streamers.  Also we had a band in blue uniforms hired from town.  Also about a dozen funny people, like clowns in a circus, to keep the spectators entertained between events.