Give the Home my love, please—­my truly love.  I have quite a feeling of tenderness for it as I look back through a haze of four years.  When I first came to college I felt quite resentful because I’d been robbed of the normal kind of childhood that the other girls had had; but now, I don’t feel that way in the least.  I regard it as a very unusual adventure.  It gives me a sort of vantage point from which to stand aside and look at life.  Emerging full grown, I get a perspective on the world, that other people who have been brought up in the thick of things entirely lack.

I know lots of girls (Julia, for instance) who never know that they are happy.  They are so accustomed to the feeling that their senses are deadened to it; but as for me—­I am perfectly sure every moment of my life that I am happy.  And I’m going to keep on being, no matter what unpleasant things turn up.  I’m going to regard them (even toothaches) as interesting experiences, and be glad to know what they feel like. `Whatever sky’s above me, I’ve a heart for any fate.’

However, Daddy, don’t take this new affection for the J.G.H. too literally.  If I have five children, like Rousseau, I shan’t leave them on the steps of a foundling asylum in order to insure their being brought up simply.

Give my kindest regards to Mrs. Lippett (that, I think, is truthful;
love would be a little strong) and don’t forget to tell her what a
beautiful nature I’ve developed. 
                               Affectionately,
          
                                         Judy

Lockwillow,
4th April
Dear Daddy,

Do you observe the postmark?  Sallie and I are embellishing Lock Willow with our presence during the Easter Vacation.  We decided that the best thing we could do with our ten days was to come where it is quiet.  Our nerves had got to the point where they wouldn’t stand another meal in Fergussen.  Dining in a room with four hundred girls is an ordeal when you are tired.  There is so much noise that you can’t hear the girls across the table speak unless they make their hands into a megaphone and shout.  That is the truth.

We are tramping over the hills and reading and writing, and having a nice, restful time.  We climbed to the top of `Sky Hill’ this morning where Master Jervie and I once cooked supper—­ it doesn’t seem possible that it was nearly two years ago.  I could still see the place where the smoke of our fire blackened the rock.  It is funny how certain places get connected with certain people, and you never go back without thinking of them.  I was quite lonely without him—­for two minutes.